


High School Sweethearts

by NicoleBloom89



Category: Grimm (TV)
Genre: AU, Anal Sex, Attraction, Bullying, Crimes & Criminals, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt, Episode Related, F/M, Family Member Death, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Grieving, Happy Ending, Hunted, Hurt Nick Burkhardt, Insecure Nick, Investigations, Juliette is a techer too, Kid Fic, Kissing, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Minor Character Death, Ooc Nick, Oral Sex, Protective renard, Rough Sex, Scents & Smells, Sex, Shy Nick, Singel father, Slow Burn, Teacher Nick, i think..., parenting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-24
Updated: 2019-05-01
Packaged: 2019-07-16 10:36:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 32,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16084379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NicoleBloom89/pseuds/NicoleBloom89
Summary: Nick Burkhardt works as a teacher at Roosevelt High School. He loves his job, but as of lately, it has begun to tear on him. Furthermore, he is about to lose the only family he has left. So, naturally, he'd want to spend every second available with her. But, instead he has to worry about…A killer who wants him dead because Nick accidentally witness him commit murder.A sudden ability to see monsters on daily basis... Like his best friend, his wife and kids…And then, of course, as if life wasn't stressful enough. He has to worry about the extremely handsome Captain Sean Renard, who has not only taken an interest in Nick's case, but seemingly in him as well!Spring break can't come fast enough…





	1. Unfortunate Encounter

**Author's Note:**

> Hello,  
> This is a little bit of a test-run of an idea I had. It’s something, so I decided to write the first chapter and see how it would be received. If you like it and want more, wonderful! I will get right on to chapter 2. If you think it's shit then feel free to say that too.
> 
> I look forward to seeing what you guys thinks!
> 
> Oh, and the places I have mentioned in the story? I don’t have any personal connection to them whatsoever.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The door cracked open.
> 
> Cloth rustled, and the sound of footsteps scraped against wood. Barely daring to breathe, I peeked around the edge of the desk. The intruder stood still, sniffing the air like a dog following a scent. In the moonlight, his eyes glowed like a pair of corpse candles. I gasped inadvertently at the sight. The man's head jerked up, and a grin split his face as he spotted me. I leaped up from behind the desk, even as the man – whatever the hell he was – surged forward and rushed me. 
> 
> What the hell was going on?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like I have mentioned before, the places in the story? I don’t have any personal connection to them whatsoever.

The loud sound of over excited children rand loudly in the corridor, making my already aching head throb painfully behind my eyes. It was almost three p.m. and the eagerness of getting home was palpable. I myself, however, was not so lucky.

With a deep sigh I carefully cut my way through the sea of children. As much as I adore my students, they couldn’t leave the school premises fast enough.

“Goodbye, Mr. Burkhardt,” one of the students said in passing. I granted her a smile. Good manners are to be encourage, after all.

Reaching the joint office, I struggle to get the door open. The stack of papers, ungraded tests and books in my arms made the procedure awkward, but I manage it without dumping the lot on the floor. The office was shared between me and five other teachers: John taught math, Juliette did English, Amanda home economics, Theodore biology and chemistry. Myself, I taught history. Stepping inside, I bumped into something solid. A book in the middle of the pile start to slide; I fumbled to try keep from dropping everything, but a moment later the whole lot tumbled on to the floor in a series of loud thumps.

“Dammit, Nick. Watch it.” And then, of course, there was David, the PE teacher. “What’s wrong with you?”

Stuttering an apology, I dropped to my knees and began hurriedly gathering up the mess.

“What the headmaster though by hiring you, I have no idea. Probably out of pity, no doubt.” I felt the heat spread from my ears to my face.

“David, it was clearly an accident,” Juliette said from her desk. “In fact, you can’t really blame him consider you were blocking the doorway.”

“What, you need a woman to fight your battles now? Pathetic.”

“That’s enough!” she snapped, fuming. “Or do you want me to report you for harassment?” David glares at her, but Juliette, despite of being only half his size, refuse to be intimidated.

“This is what you get for letting a woman out of the house,” he snares, leaving with a string of curses. He doesn’t even bother to offer to help with the mess on the floor. Not that I had expected him to. The man was a jerk.

“He is a fucking Neanderthal,” Juliette says, and I can only agree with her. “David is known for being curt with pretty much everyone at school, but with you, it’s a whole other level.”

Once again, I agree. He'd marked me the first day we'd met, greeting me with a finger-crushing handshake and a snide remark about those dainty professors I'd studied under at Concordia University. Both of us had known our respective places immediately. David was an adult version of the boys who had tormented me at school, just as I took the role of the boys he'd no doubt tormented. He was a man's man, which showed in his vocation: he taught PE, after all. A litany of red-blooded patriots fighting savages and redcoats alike, taming the wilderness, proving their worth with bulging sinews and fists. How I fit into his narrative, I wasn’t certain. Probably as some quivering coward, sniveling behind the stockade walls with the women, while pseudo-David shot Indians and wrestled bears. To know that someone had made such a cruel assumption about my character without anything sustainable to base it on hurt far more than I care to admit. And sadly, there was nothing I could do about it.

_Just like there is nothing I can do about Aunt Marie…_

I blinked back the tears burning at the corner of my eyes. Thinking about it would do me no good. Still, it was hard not to.

“Here, let me help you,” Juliette says kindly.

“You don’t, er, I’ve…” I tried, but she was already on her knees, gathering up loose papers.

“Don’t worry about it. We teacher has got to stick together, right?” She offers me a gentle smile. I hastily averted my face, gathered my books and papers, then accepted the stack she had amassed. She climbed back to her feet, brushing the invisible dust from her skirt. Her height was average, the body under the blouse where soft and petit. Her eyes were bright, and her hair was long and brown with shades of red to it. Juliette was kindhearted; a woman any man would be happy to marry. I wasn't like most men though, and I would never be. Hunching my shoulders, I tried not to loom, although taller than her as I was, I couldn’t really help it.

Thanking her for the assist, I quickly walked over to my desk. It was in its usual deplorable state: mounds of papers, files, and books buried the surface of the desk and a nearby chair. A dozen cold cups of coffee lurked here and there, some of them alarmingly old. I truly meant to get around to straightening up, but there was always something else more urgent, and as long as I could find everything it didn’t seem to matter. Besides, consider my fellow coworkers weren’t much better off, I didn’t get overly concerned.

Deposited my burden on top of a teetering pile on the desk, I slumped heavily down in my chair. Exhausted I shut my eyes; taking comfort in the rare silence. It had been a long day, and it was not yet over. Reminded about the mounting of work still waiting to be done, I seriously questioned my career choice. I loved my job, of course I do. You can’t be a teacher and not to. But the workload, the hours and to constantly having to work overtime just to get everything done… Tilting my head back, I rub my temple tiredly. Perhaps it’s time to look over my options… I’m only in my early thirties, still relatively young. The idea of seeking out a new profession seemed implausible, especially now. There were too much to do: tests to grade, faculty meetings… Then there was the matter of Aunt Marie. I glance at the clock on the wall – 15:30. If I hurry up I might be able to visit her for a short while.

Or at least, that was the idea…

**~ ** ~**

When the last test was finally graded; the books were returned on the shelfs, papers stocked and filed away, it was already dark outside. Looking at the time, I was horrified to learn she was already a quarter to eight. Cursing I shoved my stuff into the bag, and with keys and phone tucked inside my jack pocket I hasty left the office. Visiting hours was long past due, and I was scheduling a parent meeting after school tomorrow.

_Which means I wouldn’t be able to see Aunt Marie until Thursday._

Overwhelmed with guilty, I made my way towards the exit. I'd always took the time to go and see her, despite my job job or the limit of time I could stay, but even so, it still didn’t feel enough. It _wasn’t_ enough. And time was running out.

Stepping outside I was struck by cool mid-autumn air. The chill had reached them rather early this year, and I wasn’t too happy about it. I wouldn’t go so far and say I'd hate the cold, but I wasn’t particularly fond of it either. Oh, well. It’s not like I could do much about it anyway. Tighten the scarf around my neck for protection I slowly walked toward the parking lot _._ _Do I have anything eatable at home?_ I wondered. It had been awhile since I’d gone grocery shopping, not to mention doing the laundry…

There was a sudden noise coming from behind me.

Startled, I almost jumped out of my skin. Worryingly, I turned around. I couldn’t see anyone, much to my relief. What if it was a thief? Was I going to be mugged? My heart was beating wildly in my chest. I could still not see anyone, however. It was probably nothing. Perhaps just a cat. A distressed grunt shattered any hope I'd had about it being an animal. The distinct sound of a struggle erupted shortly after. Was someone fighting? Oh god, what to do? Instinctually I wanted to run to my car and put as much distance between me and here as possible. It was obvious it wasn’t a friendly encounter between whoever it was, and I wish to have no part of it.

What if it was a student?

The sudden thought sent a shiver down my spine. I'd never forgive myself if one of my students were in danger and I did do nothing to help. Gathering the little courage, I'd own, I reluctantly turned my steps in the direction where the sound of disturbance seemed strongest. I could only hope it wouldn’t be me needing rescuing by the end of the night.

The closer I got to the disturbance, the louder the sounds – yelling, really – became. The voices belong to two men: one clearly not happy with whatever the argument was about, and the other fanatically trying to defend himself.

“I won’t do it, man!” one said. Frowning, I stepped closer.

“You'll do what you’re told!” the other yelled back furiously.

Carefully I peeked my head around the corner. A bit further away stood two men. One of them was a rather young-looking man, around his early twenties. His hair was cut short, almost military style, and looked quite handsome in his dark jeans and black coat. If only I'd been ten years younger, I thought, despite myself. The other, however, seemed to be older, around his mid-forties. 

“That’s what we are paying you for!”

Paying for? Oh… Oh no. This was not an attempt of robbery, or a poor student in need of help. In fact, there probably had been no danger to begin with. This was a simple matter of prostitution! Blushing furiously, I stepped back. If I'd leave now, then perhaps I'd be able to forget this for ever happening. Mortified I turned.

“I almost got killed!” the younger cried out. Wait-what now? Killed? What the hell was this man into, exactly? Some kinky BDSM?

“That’s your answer then? You’re refusing to continue the games?” the older hissed in anger. Much like the youngster, he too was dressed in a pair of dark jeans, but rather than a coat, he was clad in a black leather jacket. Wasn’t the man freezing?

“Like hell I'll,” he snapped. “What you’re doing to the others isn’t right either. Its sick!”

Others? There are others? I suddenly had a very bad feeling in my stomach. Perhaps this wasn’t just about sex? But something much darker and more sinister.

“I will tell the police about you. I will let them know about the twisted insanity you’re running right under their nose.” The older man looked livid!

Maybe I should step in. Alone, the man might lash out and hurt the kid, well, not kid but… Anyhow, if there were two, then perhaps a confrontation might be avoided. Taking a deep breath, I headed towards them.

“Obviously, I can’t allow you to do that. Terrible for business.”

I barely had time to register the weapon before the roar of the gun rang loudly in the otherwise silent evening.

**~ ** ~**

The world stopped – or maybe it spun faster, and I was still. Frozen. My legs – no, my whole body shook, seemingly of its own volition, as every muscle in my body, every atom, were vibrating.

There came the crack of a gun, and the youngster's head burst apart. The bullet punched directly through his head, scattering chunks of flesh and bone everywhere. The man fell in a heap on the floor.

He was dead in an instant.

Stumbling backwards, horror washed over me. Surely all this was just a bad dream. There was no way I'd just witness a man committing murder! Too shocked, too overwhelmed of the horror of what I'd just seen, I let out a frightened sob.

The man’s head instantly snapped towards me.

Our eyes met.

I bolted.

**~ ** ~**

My heart pounded – did I hear footsteps behind me? Shadows flickered on the walls of the school building, as if ghosts raced me. A horrible compulsion to look over my shoulder seized me, but instead I forced my gaze forwards, stretching my legs as far as they'd go as my lungs bursting with the need for air. Reaching the main door to the school, I struggled to get the lock open. My hands too unsteady. When the lock finally did open, I almost cried in relief. I quickly shut the door behind me.

The man had just murdered a man, and no doubt intended to do the same to me. But he didn’t know the schools floor plan as I did. If I could just keep ahead of him, I could surely find some place of concealment. Once hidden, I'd call the police for help. I ducked through the staff door, down a hallway, around a corner, and through a second door. The door let into a large, open room where large shelves with books stood ordered intervals. The library.

I ducked behind the nearest desk and pressed myself against its solid wood frame. I quickly pulled my phone out, managing despite of my trembling hands to dial 9-1-1. Waiting, I strode to suppress my need to breath, least my gasp gives me away. Surely, he was no ordinary man, but some crazy maniac.

     >> 9-1-1, what’s your emergency? << A female asked.

“Yes, my name is Nick Burkhardt and a man is trying to kill me.”

     >> Where are you, sir? <<

“Hidden in the library at Roosevelt High School,” I whispered, too afraid to speak any louder.

A door creaked in the distance.

     >> Stay where you are, sir. I have dispatched a patrol car to your location. Help will be there soon. <<

Stealthy movements came from the hall outside, accompanied by a strange snuffling.

What the hell?

The only illumination came from the mixture of moonbeams and streetlight seeping through the tall windows at one end of the room.

The door cracked open.

Cloth rustled, and the sound of footsteps scraped against wood. Barely daring to breath, I peeked around the edge of the desk. The intruder stood still, sniffing the air like a dog following a scent. In the moonlight, his eyes glowed like a pair of corpse candles. I gasped inadvertently at the sight. The man's head jerked up, and a grin split his face as he spotted me. I leaped up from behind the desk, even as the man – whatever the hell he was – surged forward and rushed me.

What the hell was going on?

Petrified I swung around the corner of one of the many detached bookshelves, put my back to it, and pushed with everything I had. The wooden frame groaned, then tipped over and hit the floor with a loud crack as it hit the floor. The man growled – growled! – savagely as he jumped aside, avoiding the collision with mere inches. I stumbled away, nearly tripping over a chair.

“S-stay back!” I warned him. He rushed me a second time. I twisted away, around another desk, and sprinted for the door. A hand closed on my jacket, shoving me hard against the wall. I manage to turn to face him, just in time to see his other hand reaching for the gun I'd seen him use earlier.

Was he going to shoot me too?

Without thinking I grabbed his wrist and cling to it, fighting to keep the gun away. “Help!” I cried at the top of my lungs. “Please help me, anyone!”

My shouts died under the horrifying sound of the gun going off. Was I hit? I couldn’t tell. I was too pumped up on adrenaline to feel anything but fear and desperation. There came the thunderous sound of fast approaching footsteps, and for a second, I feared the man might not have been alone. My attacker suddenly let go of my jacket. I collapsed against the wall, gasping and shaking. There was a loud crash, then glass shattering against the floor. The man turned my way, grinning at me widely. It sent a shiver down my spine. Then he jumped out from the broken window with far too much grace belonging to any human.

Bewildered I simply stared after him. What the hell just happened? And why was there something warm and wet trickling down my arm? I looked down to see a ragged hole in the left shoulder of my jacket. The pain hit an instant later: a hot, angry burn across my upper arm, near the shoulder. _Oh,_ I thought. I have been shot.

**~ ** ~**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and comments are my joy, please make my day a happy one.  
> Much love Nicole <3


	2. Sparks of Interest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Feeling foolish, I was about to hand his jacket back when I suddenly found myself frozen at the spot.  
> “Do you have a blanket?” Hank asked the medic. “I think he’s still in shock.” I didn’t hear him, neither did I acknowledge the blanket that was being wrapped around my shoulders a second later. I was too captivated by the man who'd just stepped outside the car. The stranger was tall, dark haired and dressed in what looked like a very expensive suit. Who was he? Another detective? Surely not. But the way he held himself: strong and confident, I was beginning to doubt. Still enchanted, Hank's "excuse me" barely entered my mind before he hastily made his way towards the handsome stranger. And yes, I could confidently say that he – whoever he was – was indeed handsome. Probably the most handsome man I'd ever seen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m happy you guys found it interesting enough for a second chapter! I can only hope it will be to your liking.  
> Oh. And Renard makes an appearance!

The door was kicked open.

“Police!” Two men rushed inside, guns in the air. One of them looked afro American, dark hair and eyes, while the other seemed somewhat Asian looking. I couldn’t be for certain. It was rather dark in the room, and the only light that was provided was from the moonlight and a few lamp posts outside. And then, of course, the fact that they were blinding me with their flashlights.

“Sir are you alright?” The afro American man knelt in front of me, his face passive, but I could see concern in his eyes.

“Y-yes,” I said, my voice scraped coming out, and he scowled.

“You’re bleeding.” I clapped my other hand over the wound instinctively, even as I pressed my back tighter against the wall behind me. “Wu call for an ambulance,” he said, turning to whom I can only guess was his partner.

“Will you be all right here alone, Hank?” So, his name was Hank.

“I-it’s not that bad,” I tried, but the man dismissed me. And perhaps he was right, surely, he'd know more about this kind of things than I did.

“Yeah, we will be fine.” Wu nodded and left, leaving the two of us alone. Huddling against the wall, my gaze was drawn to the broken window where my attacker had fled. I could still see his smile, his lips drawn back from his teeth in a rabid snarl. It sent a shiver down my spine.

“You cold?” How could I be? I was still wearing my jacket and scarf, and yet, I was chilled to the bones. “It’s probably the shock,” Hank explained, removing his own jacket. “It’s a normal reaction to traumatic events, and it will pass soon enough.” I wanted to tell him not to worry, that he could keep his jacket, and that it was quite unnecessary for him to speak to me about shock. I already knew all about it. I'd been exposed to shock once before, after all. I had been 12 at the time.

_“Who are you? Where’s my parents?”_

_…A heavy hand on my shoulder… rain falling outside, drowning out my scream in denial…_

Swallowing down the heavy lump in my throat, I focused relentlessly on the here-and-now. I could have told him all of this, but I didn’t. Because really, how could I possibly tell him that my current state was not purely a result of natural events, but rather supernatural one? I couldn’t. So, I accepted the jacket, and I kept my mouth shut.

**~ ** ~**

The office was illuminated by a soft light brought by a single lamp on the desk. It had been a long day, and he couldn’t wait to get home and relax. Putting the last file for the day away, he stood up. Groaning aloud, he stretched his legs and back, aching for the long hours he'd been sitting still. Grabbing his coat, he pocketed his phone and keys. 20:05. p.m. Perhaps she'd still be up. He'd given strict instructions for her to be in bed by eight, but he secretly hope she'd disobeyed him. Just this one time. As he shut the door behind him, however, his phone rang. He was tempted to ignore it.

“Renard,” he reluctantly answered. It wouldn’t look good for the Captain for the Portland’s Police Department to dismiss a call while still in duty. Sighing, he made his way towards the elevator. “I'll be there.”

It seemed as if god wasn’t on his side tonight.

**~ ** ~**

The ambulance arrived only minutes after Wu had left me alone with Hank. I couldn’t fathom why. I wasn’t in mortal danger. At least, not any longer. Still, it was nice being cared for.

“Will he be alright?” Hank asked, almost hovering. The detective had not yet left my side, and I was starting to believe it had nothing to do with the case, but rather him itself. Hank looked like the kind of man to be fiercely protective. Perhaps he refused to leave because it was in his nature. Whatever the reason, I must remember to thank him for staying with me. It would be the polite thing to do.

“He will be just fine,” the paramedic replied, after having examined my wound. The bullet had merely gazed me, removing a divot of flesh just deep enough to bleed profusely. I'd been subjected to cleaning with alcohol, which stung rather more than the bullet itself. Then I had to be bandaged, and offered morphine for the pain, which I had refused. I'd need to be clear headed for my lectures tomorrow.

A second police car pulled over, together with a few more behind it. Oh, right. The dead body. Shivering by the memory of it, I pulled the jacket Hank kindly enough had lend me tighter around me. It didn’t help much. I notice I was being stared at. Looking up, I saw Hank frowning. His intense gaze made me uncomfortable. Had I done something wrong? Was he annoyed that I had not yet returned his jacket? Feeling foolish, I was about to hand his jacket back when I suddenly found myself frozen at the spot.

“Do you have a blanket?” Hank asked the medic. “I think he’s still in shock.” I didn’t hear him, neither did I acknowledge the blanket that was being wrapped around my shoulders a second later. I was too captivated by the man who'd just stepped outside the car. The stranger was tall, dark haired and dressed in what looked like a very expensive suit. Who was he? Another detective? Surely not. But the way he held himself: strong and confident, I was beginning to doubt. Still enchanted, Hank's "excuse me" barely entered my mind before he hastily made his way towards the handsome stranger. And yes, I could confidently say that he – whoever he was – was indeed handsome. Probably the most handsome man I'd ever seen. _Perhaps I did die, and this is my little piece of heaven._ If so, I surely wasn’t going to complain.

**~ ** ~**

Renard arrived at the crime scene with little to none enthusiasm. It was late, and bloody freezing. Perhaps it wasn’t too late to return and get his coat from the car.

“Captain!” Cursing his luck, Renard turned to whoever was calling him. _And to think I could be home with a good book, not to mention soaking in a hot bath…_

“Hank,” he greeted. “What do we have?” Hopefully, it could be dealt with quickly.

“Murder.” Great, another late night. Renard made a mental note to buy Patty a nice gift for her trouble. “Wu found the body close to the parking lot. He was shot in the head, close range. Whoever killed him probably knew our vic.”

“Any witnesses?” Renard asked. It was very unlikely consider the cold, but he'd had to ask anyway.

“Yes.” To say that Renard was surprised – pleasantly so – was an understatement. Perhaps there would be time for a warmth bath after all. “According to the witness, our victim was arguing with another man.”

“An accident?” It wouldn’t be the first time they'd dealt with a heated argument gone wrong. Hank shook his head.

“No. Apparently our victim threatened to go to the police, and our perpetrator wasn’t too happy about it.”

“Where is the witness now?”

“With the paramedics,” Hank tells him, and at Renard's questioning look, he adds, “He was caught, and our unsub shot him in the arm.”

“And the shooter?”

“Uncaptured,” Hank grudgingly admits. Renard cursed. If this indeed was true, then the witness was still in great danger.

“I would like to talk with him,” Renard insisted.

“Of course, sir.”

**~ ** ~**

Desperate to get home to my own bed, I seriously consider whatever or not I could get away without anyone’s notice. My wound was neatly taken care of, I'd already left my statement of the incident – minus the supernatural bit, of course – as well as my contact information. Surely, if there was anything else, they'd call me. With my mind set, I removed the blanket. I could already feel the pillow under my head. Not hearing their arrival, the call of my name startled the heck out of me. I spun around, letting out an embarrassing squeak.

“Where are you going?” Hank asked, and he wasn’t alone. The man I'd been ogling from afar was standing next to him.

“N-nowhere?” I said, burning hot with embarrassment. I couldn’t help but to feel like a child who'd just got caught by his parents trying to sneak out of the house. “W-who is your f-friend?” Was I even allow to ask? Probably not, and I suddenly felt like an idiot.

“This is my Captain,” Hank replied, seemingly taking pity on me. “He has some questions for you.” Captain? No wonder he seemed so confident.

“If you feel up to it, that is?” the Captain gently adds. Up close, my first impression of handsomeness was only reinforced. His eyes – was that amusement? Surely not – were green as malachite, shot through with strands of rust and lapis. He possessed a straight nose, firm mouth, and lightly-tanned skin as if he'd recently been abroad. He wore a sober gray suit lightened by a dashing blue vest, and a tie matching the color of his eyes. His height was slightly above average, the body under the suit well-formed and broad-shouldered. There was no other word for it. The man was beautiful. Not at all like my gawky, ugly self.

“Well, yes. Of course,” I answered. “Whatever you need, sir.”

“Good. And you can call me Renard, if you would like,” he offers, and I feel somewhat warmer inside. “Can you tell me what happened here? According to Hank, you saw a man get killed. Is that correct?”

“Y-yeah. I was on my way home when I heard noises, as if someone was fighting. I thought perhaps it was one of my students getting mugged, so I got worried.”

“Your students? You’re a teacher then?” I nod.

“I work here at Roosevelt High School.” Hank wrote something down in his notepad, but I couldn’t see what it was.

“Can you remember what time it was?” My attention flew from Hank back to Renard.

“Umm… I left the office around 19:45 p.m. So, around eight?” Hank continue to write.

“Isn’t it a little bit late for teaching?” Renard asked, genuinely surprised. I shot him a rueful grin.

“Not really. As a teacher I’m not only responsible for the class itself, but the preparation of that said lecture. Then there is gradings; tests; parenting meetings and faculty meetings. There is a lot more to it than just teaching. As a Captain, I’m sure you can relate to the amount of work that’s happening behind closed doors.”

“Only too well.” There is a crinkle at the corner with his smile, I notice, and I wonder what he'd look with a proper smile. Breathtaking, certainly. “Then, what happened?”

“I saw two men. One was in his early twenties, short hair, dressed in jeans and a coat. I got the distinct feeling he was military.” Renard arched a brow.

“What makes you say that?” Hank who had stopped writing was looking at me curiously too.

“I don’t know why exactly, but there was something about the way he stood. He had the same air about him as you do,” I said, gesturing at Renard.

“Me?” My comment obviously confused him, so I hastily explain myself.

“He was self-assured. Confident in his own body. He refused to be ordered around, neither was he scared of doing what was right. Otherwise he wouldn’t have turned down the money he was being offered, nor threatening to go to the cops and tell them about whatever was going on.”

“Oh,” Renard replied, then cleared his throat. “What… What about the other man? What can you tell me about him?” Hank was struggling not to laugh aloud. I frowned. Had I misspoken? Did I accidently insult him? I certainly hope not.

“The other was a bit older, around mid-forties? Average height, somewhat fit, dark hair and he wore a leather jacket.”

“You think he might be connected to the military as well?”

“No, I doubt it. He didn’t display the same confidence,” I explained. “Too temperamental, too quick to start a fight. Also, correct me if I’m wrong, my interaction with trained soldiers is quite limited, but I'd have the impression they'd rather use their fist in combat then guns.” For a brief second, I'd swore I'd seen a glint of approval in the Captain's eyes, but it was gone so quickly that I questioned whatever it had ever been there at all.

“Which our culprit did.” I nod. “You mentioned an argument. Did you perhaps hear what it was about?”

“The, um, victim, said he'd refuse to participate in some game, but they didn’t get into any details. Just that he was being paid to perform, and by the sound of it, it wasn’t small sums either. But because he'd almost got killed during one of his performs, he'd rejected the offer.

“He told it wasn’t right, the way he – they – were being used. Even called it sick, twisted insanity. He threatened to go to the police, to tell you everything. And that’s when… when he got s-shot.” I wrapped my arms around my chest, afraid I'd fall apart otherwise. The blood… The chunks of brain and bones… A shudder ran through me.

I felt sick.

“Nick are you alright?” Blinking, I turned my attention to Renard. The man was watching me with heavy concern. “If you’re feeling unwell, we can always continue another time,” he suggested. “Tomorrow, perhaps?” As grateful as I was by his offer, I refuse to accept it. I already felt pathetic as it was.

“N-no, it's fine. I just…” My voice lodged in my throat. “I’m sorry, give me a minute?”

“Of course. Take the time you need,” Renard calmly tells me. “Tell us the rest when you’re ready.” I wanted to tell him that they'd already know the rest. I'd already given my statement to Hank, surly that’s enough. Why even bother questioning me all over again? It's not like I'd suddenly change my statement and tell them about the unnatural aspect of the incident: how the man's eyes had glowed red in the dark, or that he'd probably found me by smell. They'd think I'd gone insane!

Perhaps sensing my agitation, I sudden felt a heavy hand on my shoulder. Opening my eyes – when did I close them? – I saw Renard hunched down before me.

“This is enough for today,” he said. “Hank has already taking your statement. We'll contact you if we have any further questions.” I wanted to argue with him. I wanted to tell him I was alright, but quite frankly, I was too exhausted to give a damn. And consider what I'd seen tonight, I was probably on the verge of madness…

**~ ** ~**

Watching Nick, hunch over and clearly exhausted, Renard decided to send the man home. They'd already taken his statement and forcing him to continue in such a fatigued state would do them no good. Renard had asked one of the detectives to drive Nick home, in which, much to Renard’s amusement, had objected quite heatedly against. That yes, he might be exhausted, but he'd be damned if he couldn’t drive his own ass home. In the end, Renard had gracefully surrender, but seeing Nick drive off, however…

“Hank.”

“Yes, sir?”

“I want someone to watch over Nick's house tonight.”

“You think our killer will make a repeat performance?” Renard doubt their unsub would be foolish enough to try anything else tonight, but over the years working in homicide he'd met many fools. “I'll put Wu on it.” Satisfied, Renard returns to his car.

22:23 p.m.

Groaning, he starts the engine. Petty was going to strangle him.

**~ ** ~**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and comments are my joy, please make my day a happy one.  
> Much love Nicole <3


	3. The Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “When they lose control they can’t hide, and we see them for what they really are.” Her comment pricked my conscience. 
> 
> David’s face flushed red. “I requested this two weeks ago!”  
> “And when Mr. Flaherty finds the time to accommodate you, I'm sure he'll let you know,” the secretary replied icily.  
> … then David's features shifted, becoming almost badger-like. There was black fur over his face, neck, and arms; his teeth razor sharp and his hands had developed large claws…  
> The room was suddenly far too small.
> 
> “Oh, sweetie, there is still so much you don’t know.”  
> “I have to go.” The words spilled from numb lips, and I only distantly recognized them as my own.  
> “Nick?” She reached for me, but I jerked away. The walls swayed and reeled around me as I stepped outside the room. Whatever I had believed about myself, it was all a lie, wasn’t it? Was I still even human? I leaned against the wall to keep from falling.  
> What would Juliette think, if I told her? Or Mr. Flaherty? Surely, he'd fire me immediately. Nausea roiled in my belly, but I choked it down. I had to get out of here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Its revealing time…

As I dressed the next morning in the clear light of the day, the events of the previous night seemed like something from a dream. Surely, there had to be some sort of rational explanation for what I'd seen. Some sort of tragic deformity, perhaps? No. The man had looked perfectly normal before the shooting. A trick of the light, then? It would certainly explain the eyes, but what about the smelling? The teeth? Or the growl I'd heard? Trying as I might, I could find no rational explanation to what I'd seen. Except for one, of course.

Fearing the worst, I made my way down the stairs and locked the door behind me. Because surely, no one relish the idea of madness at 07:30 a.m. in the morning.

**~ ** ~**

The principal had made a short announcement that morning, informing the students and the rest of the teachers about the last night's incident, and as to why the library was closed off for the time being. Mercifully, he hadn’t mention me by name. I suspected it had been a direct request from the Captain himself, consider it was still an ongoing investigation. I appreciate their effort to keep my identity anonymous, it would certainly save me a great deal of trouble with the media. However, consider the state I'd been this morning, I highly doubt my involvement was much of a secret. I'd looked quite horrible: with my already pale complexion, I'd almost looked transparent in the crude light, and the dark circles under my eyes had been rather distinct. I can only imagine how I must have looked like to anyone else. After the speech, I'd spend the better part of the morning in the office. I wouldn’t say I was hiding, exactly, but the thought of interacting with anyone felt quite…dreadful. Shortly before lunch, there came a discreet rap on the door.

“Mr. Burkhardt? Do you have a moment?” Mr. Flaherty called. Why the principal wish to see me, I had no idea. When I opened the door, it was to find him looking quite uncomfortable; nothing like his usual stoic self. “Miss. Silverton said you were hiding in here,” he said, following me in. The word stung, although there was no reason for them to.

“I wasn’t hiding, I was working.” He settled into the seat across from me, wrapped both his hands across his knees.

“I'm glad to hear it, but I primarily came by to see how you’re holding up.” I eyed him warily. Was he worried I would have a breakdown in the middle of class? Or was he perhaps looking for any reason to fire me?

“I’m fine, sir. Don’t worry, I’m still able to teach,” I insisted. Admittingly, the job left little room for socializing, but it wasn’t as if I particularly minded. I liked my quite heaven at home, preferably with a good book. If Mr. Flaherty was indeed going to fire me, I wouldn’t know what to do. “So, please don’t fire me, sir!” I blurt out. Mr. Flaherty's eyebrows shoot up.

“Firing you? Why on earth would I do that?” he asked, looking utterly complexed by my statement. “You’re an excellent teacher, Nick. The kids like you, and the teachers speaks highly of you and your work. I would be a fool to let you go.” I didn’t know what to say. I certainly wasn’t expecting such praises from either my students or fellow colleagues. I swallowed against the thickness in my throat.

“T-thank you, sir. Then, what is it you wish to speak to me about?”

“Like I said, I was worried about you. What happened last night can't have been easy, then having to return to the same school where you almost got murdered!” No, it hadn’t, but what choice did I have?

“It's not like I can stop coming here, now can I. This is where I work, and there is nothing I can do about it. I’m certainly not handing in my resignation.”

“True, but even so, I must insist you take some time off.” I rose to my feet.

“What?”

“It's only for a couple of days,” Mr. Flaherty says, making his way towards the door. I quickly caught up with him.

“There is no reason to,” I persist. “Like I told you, I can still teach.” I followed Mr. Flaherty to his office, arguing, begging him to let me continue with my work.

“I understand, but please be reasonable. It's for your own good,” Mr. Flaherty argued, returning to his seat. “Nick, you aren’t even supposed to be here now. Had I been informed about the situation earlier, I would have called you this morning to tell you to stay home. God knows the stress you must have put yourself through by simply showing up this morning. You’re damn lucky you didn’t have a damn meltdown in the hallway.”

I didn’t feel very lucky.

“Sir, time away is the last thing I need,” I reasoned. “I need to stay active, have some normality. I fear that a force of absent will do more harm than good.”

“I’m sorry, Nick, but my decision is final. It's only for a couple of days. I’m sure your aunt would appreciate the company. It's to my understanding she is not doing too great?”

“No, she is not,” I admit. “Cancer.”

“I’m truly sorry to hear that. How far is she?”

“Stage three.” My throat tried to close against the words, but I forced them out. “There isn’t much they can do about it.”

“I lost my wife to the bloody thing,” he said, watching the framed photo on his desk. “It’s an ugly thing.” I didn’t argue with him. Neither did fight him when he led me towards the door. It was obvious I was doomed to fail anyway. “Remember,” said Mr. Flaherty. “My door is always open if you need to talk.”

“Thank you, sir. I very much appreciate it.”

As I stepped out of his office, I found David arguing with Mr. Flaherty's secretary. David's face flushed red as he said, “I requested this two weeks ago!”

“And when Mr. Flaherty finds the time to accommodate you, I’m sure he will let you know,” the secretary replied icily. Then, much to my horror, David's features shifted, becoming almost badger-like. There was black fur over his face, neck, and arms; his teeth razor sharp and his hands had developed large claws. I couldn't move, couldn’t breathe, couldn't do anything but stare. God, what was happening to me?

“I –” David broke off when he saw me. His features thankfully back to normal. His flush deepened. “Very well,” he snarled. I tried to slip quietly past, but of course it wasn’t to be. David pursued me down the hall, not speaking until we were well out of earshot of the secretary. “Have a nice chat with Mr. Flaherty?” he asked.

“Quite nice,” I replied, as naturally as I could.

“I suppose you think it means something, that you have his attention?” I stopped. We were alone in the corridor, and I felt a little flicker of fear at the sight of David's anger, his clenched fists. However, underneath the fear, I felt something stir, something _different_ , but just as much part of me as the rush of blood through my veins, or the rhythm of my breath. If he raised his hand to me, he'd regret it.

“Do you have something you want to say to me?” I asked coldly. What the hell was I doing? Why had I even said anything? This was madness!

“I’m here because of my own merits,” he said. “My own hard work. You? Mr. Flaherty only hired you because he pitied you.”

“That’s not true!” I admit, a part of me had believed so the first few years I’d been working here, but things were different now. Mr. Flaherty himself had done nothing but praised me less than half an hour ago. David snorted and shook his head.

“Everything you have – you job, your friends, because as we all know, you don’t have much of a family, well, not for much longer – is because…”

“Go to hell.” I snapped. He smirked.

“A little too close to home, eh, Nicky boy.” Swallowing down my anger, I turned on my heels and walked away. David’s mocking laughter echoed behind me.

**~ ** ~**

I was still in bad mood when I stepped into the small florist's shop. The large windows showed an explosion of color within: scarlet roses, blushing lilies, vibrant violets, and golden sunflowers. The mingled scent of dozen different species of flowers struck me as soon as I stepped inside. My nose tingle, and I sneezed despite myself. A plump woman beamed at me from behind the counter.

“Can I help you, sir?” She bustled out, her cheerful smile fixed on me.

“Yes,” I said, as civilly as I could manage. “I would like to purchase some roses, carnations and chrysanthemums, please.”

“Of course.” She picked out the flowers I'd named, and quickly arranged them in a rather beautiful bouquet. I paid for them and left, hoping she would like them.

**~ ** ~**

I hurriedly picked up the bouquet from the passenger seat. There were surprisingly many people at the hospital despite the early hour. The interconnected corridors and oddly-angled halls made it almost impossible to navigate oneself. I made my way towards Aunt Marie’s room. My footsteps echoed strangely, almost as if someone followed behind me. I quickened my pace, which only made it worse. By the time I reached her door, my heart thumped hard enough to make me light-headed, and it was everything I could do not to break into panic. Perhaps Mr. Flaherty had been right. Maybe I'd need some time off.

Gathering my breath, I managed to calm myself. I knocked on the door and was bid enter by a muffled voice within. I walked in without attempting to conceal my smile, despite the heavy scent of disinfection stinging my eyes. The room was much the same: white and stripped down by any personal belongings. Only the flowers from my last visit offered some warmth in the otherwise cold room. They were already dying. Marie was in bed, bundled in layers of blankets, an old looking book in her hand.

“Nick,” she said, and her joyful smile was infectious. “How good to see you. Come, sit down.” I seated myself on the chair beside her bed and took her hand. Her skin was thin, translucent, and her grip weak. Her once glorious hair had long gone and wrinkled marked her face with months of struggle against illness. But her eyes were still sharp and fierce, the eyes of a hunting hawk, even if one trammeled in a mew.

“How are you?” I asked.

“Well enough, all consider. But what of you? How is your job going at the school? I heard there was some sort of incident, but I haven’t yet been able to read about it in the newspapers.”

“There was a murder,” I tell her. Not wishing to treat her as a child, I decided to tell her the truth, everything of it. Starting with the sounds I'd heard, about the arguing, the murder, and the man coming after me. I hesitated to speak of the strange things I'd seen that night, but I'd already decided not to treat her as a child. And if anyone would be able to help me make sense of things, surely it would be her. “His eyes,” I told her. “They were bright red!” I shrank into myself. “You must think I have gone insane.”

“No. Not at all,” she replied calmly. Surprised, I stared at her, and my surprise only grew stronger when I came to a startling realization. She hadn’t even blinked when I'd told her about the way its eyes had glowed red in the dark, the teeth, or the way it seemed to have found me by scent. None of it had fazed her.

“The misfortune of our family has already been passed over to you. We have the ability to see what no one else can,” she goes on. I had wondered… but I'd dismissed it in hope of it not being true. Now, however, it seemed like I could no longer turn a blind eye to reality.

“I guess insanity runs in the family then.”

“No, Nick. You’re a grimm, one of the last.”

“A grimm? Like the brothers grimm?” I asked, frowning.

“This is no fairy tale. The stories are real. What they wrote really happened.”

“You need some rest,” I said. It was obvious she was beginning to feel the effect of the medication. “I'll come back later.” A surprisingly strong hand grabbed hold of my arm, refusing to let me go.

“I know it’s a lot. And I wish I had more time, but we don’t. You’re vulnerable now, you need to be careful.” The fire in her eyes dimmed. I felt bad for doubting her, but what she was telling me…

“When they lose control they can’t hide, and we see then for what they really are.” Her comment pricked my conscience.

_David’s face flushed red. “I requested this two weeks ago!”_

_“And when Mr. Flaherty finds the time to accommodate you, I'm sure he'll let you know,” the secretary replied icily._

_… then David's features shifted, becoming almost badger-like. There was black fur over his face, neck, and arms; his teeth razor sharp and his hands had developed large claws…_

The room was suddenly far too small.

“Oh, sweetie, there is still so much you don’t know.”

“I have to go.” The words spilled from numb lips, and I only distantly recognized them as my own.

“Nick?” She reached for me, but I jerked away. The walls swayed and reeled around me as I stepped outside the room. Whatever I had believed about myself, it was all a lie, wasn’t it? Was I still even human? I leaned against the wall to keep from falling. What would Juliette think, if I told her? Or Mr. Flaherty? Surely, he'd fire me immediately. Nausea roiled in my belly, but I choked it down.

I had to get out of here.

**~ ** ~**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, don't forget to tell me what you think. I love to hear your thoughts about it.  
> Much love, Nicole <3


	4. Old Endings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I felt Renard's hand tightened on my shoulder. “Are you alright? You look quite pale. Is something wrong with your arm?” He is concerned, I realized. The revelation made my ears and cheeks burned, and an unfamiliar warmth fluttered in my stomach.  
> “I…oh. Y-yes. I’m fine.” A fine, babbling idiot, that is.  
> “Have you eaten lunch yet?” I hadn’t even had breakfast; my stomach growled in response. Had he heard?  
> “No.”  
> “Then let me take you out; there is a nice-looking cafeteria on the third floor.” The same floor as Aunt Marie's room. I forced down the sickness at the back of my throat.  
> “Lunch sound perfect,” I replied. I might still be upset at Aunt Marie, I thought as I followed the man up to the third floor, but I would be more upset with myself if I turned down the opportunity to have an hour – perhaps even longer – alone with Renard

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone up for a second encounter between our sexy Captain and our favorite grimm?

“It seems that your admirer was right about our victim,” Hank says. Blinking, Renard looked down at the file that had just been tossed on his desk.

“Excuse me?”

“Meet Kurt Nobel, 23 years old, and joined the army at the age of 19.”

“According to his file, he seemed to do well for himself,” Renard said, deciding to ignore Hank's earlier comment, at least for the moment. “Up for a recommendation, too.”

“I just hang up the phone with his superior, and the man had nothing but good things to say about him. The kid was well liked and respected. He couldn’t think of anyone who would have wanted him dead or why.”

“Well,” Renard said, closing the file. “We already know why he got killed – to keep him from talking. I'm having a hard time believing anyone would commit murder for a "game", however.”

“People have killed for far stranger reasons,” Hank reminded him.

“True,” Renard admits. “And with only a rough description to go on, finding him won’t be easy.” Troubled, Renard glanced at the file he'd been reading before Hank's abrupt interruption.

The case file of Nicholas Burkhardt.

There was nothing immediately about it that stood out, and yet it sent his gut feeling into overdrive. There was something about the shy teacher that had left an impression. His impressive deductive skills had certainly been a pleasant surprise, but that was not all. Leaning back in his seat, Renard sighed.

“I know that look,” Hank said. “What are you thinking?”

Not bother denying it, Renard asked, “How was he, the witness when you interrogated him the first time?”

“Nick?” Frowning, Hank considered the question. “As one would be expected, consider the circumstances. He was scared, wouldn’t stop shaking.” Yes. The man had trembled quite awfully despite the provided blanket.

“Too afraid to tell us everything?” Renard wondered. Just saying the words gave him an uncomfortable pang, though.

“You suspect he’s deliberately holding back information?”

“I don’t want to, but we can’t rule out the possibility.” Hank's frown deepened, clearly upset by the idea. Apparently, Renard wasn’t the only one having developed a soft spot for the shy teacher. The fact oddly annoyed him.

“Do you want me to bring him in for further questioning?” Renard did rather not. Surely, Nick was at home, trying to cope with the horror he'd been exposed to. Unfortunately, Renard couldn’t allow his personal feelings rule his judgment. God knows he'd already slipped up on more than one occasion. If anyone was to ask, Renard could justify his decision to send Nick home instead of pushing forward with the interrogation. The teacher had simply been too emotional to continue. And his decision to send a police car to Nick's house for surveillance had been nothing but precaution. The murder was still loose, and Nick was a valuable witness to the case. It would be foolish not to protect an asset. Which is why he'd _firmly_ advised Mr. Flaherty to keep Nick's involvement a secret. It was still an ongoing investigation, anonymity was essential. All sounding very reasonable, but Renard knew it was all a lode of crap. He’d just didn’t want any harm to come to the man. Simple as that. Renard huffed out a breath. “Sir?”

There was a knock on the door.

“Yes?”

Poking his head in, Wu asked, “Is this a bad time?”

“No, what is it?” Renard replied, secretly grateful for the interruption. Stepping inside, the Sergeant joined them.

“We have another case – assault. Was found last night barely alive. He is currently being treated at St Vincent Hospital.”

“Last night?” Renard asked. “You think it has any connection to what happened at the school?”

“Too soon to tell, but I thought you might be interested,” Wu said, giving him the file. Wu was right, it was too soon to jump to conclusion, but it was one hell of a coincident.

“Thank you,” he said, accepting the file. St Vincent Hospital wasn’t too far from Roosevelt High School. “Did anything suspicious happened by the house last night?”

“Nothing,” Wu answered. Renard was glad to hear it. “In fact, it was quite relaxing.”

“Then I suppose you won’t mind doing it again tonight.” He was simply protecting an asset, nothing more, Renard told himself.

“Of course not,” Wu replied. “It’s part of the job.” Beside him, Hank was struggling to keep the grin off his face. He wasn’t very successful.

“Good,” Renard said, standing. “Hank are you up for a visit to the hospital?”

“Sure. Just let me grab my coat,” the detective answered, leaving the office. If Wu was throwing daggers at his partner's retreating back, who was Renard to judge?

**~ ** ~**

“He was brought in around 23:00 p.m.,” the doctor told them. “A man accidentally stumbled upon him while walking his dog.”

“We'll be needing his name and contact information,” Hank said.

“Of course. I will ask Miss. Putnam to have the file ready before you leave.”

“Thank you,” he replied. “What can you tell us about the victim?”

“Well, whoever did this to him knew what they were doing. They knew exactly where to hit for maximum damage: jaw, throat, solar plexus and the kidneys. I was surprised he was still even alive when they found him.” Looking at the beat-up man in the hospital bed, Renard could see why.

“Do you know when he will wake up?” the Captain asked. Renard doubt it would be anytime soon considering the damage, but it was important that they'd talk to him.

“We had to put him induced coma to help the body to recover,” she explained. “As such, I’m afraid it won’t be for a while.”

“Any I.D?”

“No,” she replied. “And he wasn’t caring a phone either. Except his clothes, all he'd had on him was a ring on his left finger. Unfortunately, we'd have to cut it open to treat his broken finger. Would you like to have it as well?”

“Yes, please.”

“Certainly, anything else I can help you with?”

“No, thank you. You have been most helpful,” Renard said, giving her his card. “If you can think of anything else, call me.”

“I will,” she promised. “Now, if you'll excuse me, I have patients to tend to,” she said and made her way back down the hall.

“Well, that wasn’t very fulfilling,” Hank said once the doctor was out of earshot.

"Agree, but hopefully we will get something out of the man who found him, or perhaps the ring will give us some clue.” There were many clubs who used rings to prove their membership, maybe their victim's ring belonged to one of them.

“Isn't that Nick?” Hank sudden asked. “There, by the window.” Renard looked where Hank was pointing at, and yes. It was indeed him. “I wonder why he’s here.” Renard was asking himself the same question. “Why don’t you go and talk to him while I get the file and our victim's ring?” Hank suggested. “Perhaps you can take the opportunity to ask him further about last night.” Renard wanted to object, if for no other reason than to wipe the smugly grin off his face, but Hank did have a point. Taking advantage of the opportunity would save them a lot of trouble, and time. Furthermore, the teacher did look awfully distraught.

“Fine. I will meet up with you back at the station,” he said. “See whatever or not you can find a way to I.D our victim, ask Wu to help you if needed.”

“Anything else?”

“Yes. You can get that smug face of your out of my sight.” Laughing, Hank left. The man was insufferable.

**~ ** ~**

I stood by the window, hidden away as best as I could. I'd try to leave, desperate to get out, but because of the fanatic state I'd been in, I'd accidentally got lost. I could ask for guidance, of course, but I was too tired to be rational about it. So, I'd simply stopped all together. Sighing, I leaned heavily against the wall. Sunlight streamed through the window, illuminating my face and skin. It had helped a great deal to calm me down. I was still rather upset about the whole ordeal. The fact that my aunt had lied to me, all this time, hurt. What about my parents? Had they known, been aware of, what had Aunt Marie called it, misfortune of our family? _I guess I will never know_ , I thought sadly. And I certainly wasn’t too keen in asking Aunt Marie about it.

A hand came down on my shoulder.

I jumped, letting out an undignified shriek. “Nick, it’s just me.”

My heart pounded so hard from my scare I could barely speak. “S-sir? – what – why are you here?” To see the Captain again, and here of all places, was the least I'd expected when I'd woken up this morning. I was hardly complaining, though.  

“I'm here for a case. A man was assaulted last night.”

“I am sorry to hear that. Will he be alright?” I asked, then winced. “Sorry, I’m probably not allowed to ask. It’s still an active case, isn’t it?”

“You're right. I’m not deliberated to speak about it, but I’m sure the victim appreciates your concern.” I felt Renard's hand tightened on my shoulder. “Are you alright? You look quite pale. Is something wrong with your arm?” He is concerned, I realized. The revelation made my ears and cheeks burned, and an unfamiliar warmth fluttered in my stomach.

“I…oh. Y-yes. I’m fine.” A fine, babbling idiot, that is.

“Have you eaten lunch yet?” I hadn’t even had breakfast; my stomach growled in response. Had he heard?

“No.”

“Then let me take you out; there is a nice-looking cafeteria on the third floor.”

The same floor as Aunt Marie's room.

I forced down the sickness at the back of my throat. “Lunch sound perfect,” I replied. I might still be upset at Aunt Marie, I thought as I followed the man up to the third floor, but I would be more upset with myself if I turned down the opportunity to have an hour – perhaps even longer – alone with Renard.

**~ ** ~**

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you earlier,” Renard said as we settle down around the table. “I'd called out your name, but you didn’t respond.” I sat in front of him.

“It's alright,” I assured him. “I wasn’t paying attention.” I'd been too caught up in my own head to notice pretty much anything around me. Renard raised an eyebrow and, much to my relief, made no further comment. I reached for the coffee, then winced when the wound pulled. Renard noticed, of course.

“You sure you’re alright?” His concern brought a smile to my face.

“Yes. Mostly.” He gave me a narrow look, though, and I relented with a sigh. “It hurts a bit, but it’s nothing I can’t handle.” _I’m more worried about how to handle everything else…_ I thought sadly. The heat scalded my fingers, but I cradled it gratefully in my hands.

“I’m glad to hear it, but if you’re not here because of your arm, then why, if I may ask, are you doing here?” A worker slide in a plate of poached fish in front of me, giving me an excuse not to meet his eyes.

“I, er, the principal kind of banned me from work, so I decided to visit my aunt.”

“Your aunt?” I nod, still refusing to look him in the eyes. “What is wrong with her?”

“Cancer.”

“I shouldn’t have pried. I’m sorry.”

“W-what? No. Its… its fine,” I said, alarmed. “We'd known about the diagnose for quite some time now. It was only a matter of time before she'd be hospitalized.”

“Still, it can’t be easy, on either of you.”

“It's not,” I said, playing with the food on my plate. I wasn’t particularly hungry anymore. “I never thanked you for yesterday,” I add, changing the topic. “For sending me home when you did. It was very kind of you.”

“I only did what was right,” Renard replied, brushing the comment off with a shrug on his shoulder. “It was obvious you were in no condition to talk, and if I had pushed you, you might accidentally had giving us false information. I wouldn’t allow sloppy behavior jeopardize the investigation.”

“If I may be so crude,” I said, looking up at him through my eyelashes. “Stop rationalizing yourself and accept a damn compliment.” He said nothing, and for a horrifying moment I thought I'd stepped out of line. But then, much to my surprise, he started laughing.

“You're right,” he said between laughter. “Thank you, and you're most welcome.”

“And don’t think I haven’t noticed the car standing outside my house,” I told him, pointing my fork at him accusingly. “I felt terrible for the poor guy. I almost invited him in for the night!”

“I agreed to allow you to drive home on your own, I didn’t, however, say you'd be the only one driving. And if you had, I’m sure Wu would have welcomed your offer.”

“Maybe because you never mentioned it to me to begin with.”

“True,” Renard chuckled. “But, would you have accepted it, if I'd told you?”

“Of course not!” He smiled at me, soft and achingly beautiful. I'm glad I'd been proven right. With a proper smile, he was indeed breathtaking.

“I suspected as much. Which is why I didn’t bother to tell you.”

“Rather begging for forgiveness then asking for permission?”

“Something like that, however,” he said, leaning over the table as if he was about to tell me a well-kept secret. “I never beg.”

I sputtered, choking on my coffee.

“You alright there, Nick?” he asked, but his voice was laced with humor. I was mortified, but I didn’t really care. I was - honest to god - laughing! Drying the tears with the corner of my sleeves, I shook my head.

“You sir are indeed a horrible man,” I said, still smiling. It had been too damn long since I last laughed. I'd almost forgotten what it felt like.

“I do my best,” he replied, looking awfully pleased with himself. “And speaking of sir, please stop, there is no reason to. I am not your Captain.”

“Oh, sorry. I don’t think I was even aware of doing it,” I admitted. “I always wanted to become a cop when I was little. I guess it’s a natural respond on my part.”

“Really?” I could see a spark of interest in his eyes. I felt oddly flattered by it. “What made you change your mind, then?” For the first time throughout our conversation, I felt reluctant to share: even more so than about Aunt Marie's sickness.

“I moved around a lot as a kid,” I finally tells him. “At the time, I didn’t exactly know why, and I didn’t bother to ask either. I knew I wouldn’t understand it anyway. Besides, as any kid at that age, I treated it as an adventure. Discovering different places, meeting new people. It was exciting. However, I soon realized that a new school also meant being the new kid. I gained a few friends, sure, but I'd be saying goodbye to them soon enough. I'd have to forget about them, start over. New town, new school, new friends, and repeat. After a while, the spark of adventure faded, and I got tired of it. I stop trying, I stop caring. I thought, what’s the point? I would just have to say goodbye to them anyway.

“One day, my history teacher Mr. Whyborne noticed my lack of interaction with the other students. He took me aside and asked me if something was troubling me. At first, I thought he was just being polite. You know, asking just for the sake of it. No one had seemed to care before, why would he be any different? I told him it was nothing and went home. However, the next day, he asked me again. I told him I was fine, but every day for the next two weeks he repeatedly asked me the same question, and one day, I couldn’t take it anymore.”

“What happened?” Renard asked me, seemingly forgotten his own food.

“I broke down right in front of him,” I reluctantly admitted. “I cried, and I couldn’t seem to stop myself. Not that Mr. Whyborne asked me to anyway; didn’t ask me to explain what was wrong or any of the sort. He just let me cry in his arms till I couldn’t cry anymore. I learned that day that yes, you can carry everything on your own, that you don’t need to rely on other people, but it will slowly destroy you in the end. I hadn’t realized how isolated I'd been, or how badly I'd hurt myself because of it. “Mr. Whyborne took the time to listen to me when no one else did or seemed to care about me, and for the first time in what had felt like forever, I was happy. It was in that moment I thought to myself – Oh, I want to be just like him one day. So, I became a teacher.”

“He sounds like a good man.”

“He was,” I insisted.

“I honestly don’t know where I would be today without him, but wherever it is, it’s nowhere good.” I forced the last of my coffee down despite the thickness in my throat. “He most likely saved my life.”

“Then I'm–” There was a sudden commotion outside. I arched a questioning brow at the Captain, and together we exit the cafeteria. As we turned the corner we saw a couple of nurses and doctors running in and out from one of the rooms. I felt my heart sink.

That was Aunt Marie's room.

“Aunt Marie,” I cried out, quickly making my way over. I tried to get inside, but was halted by a nurse, telling me to stay outside. Watching the chaos happening before me had a dreamlike quality to it. Or perhaps a nightmarish one.

“Your aunt is Marie Kessler?” Renard asked, reading the name tag on the door.

“I…” There was a loud curse from inside of the room; I disregard his question.

“We are losing her!”

There was another curse, another yell.

The line went flat.

**~ ** ~**

The world stopped. Or maybe just my world. I'd expected to lose her, ever since I was old enough to understand the meaning of death, to know there was no other possible end to her illness. But not like this. Not without a proper goodbye.

“No!” The sound tore its way out of my throat.

Someone grabbed me from behind.

I struggled against whoever was holding me back, but they were too strong. Defeated, I slumped into the embrace, pressing my face against soft fabric.

“Time of death… 14:18. p.m.”

With a broken sob, I started crying.

**~ ** ~**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and comments are my joy, please make my day a happy one.  
> Much love Nicole <3


	5. Remind Me How to Breathe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reaching for his mug, Renard growled anew finding it empty. Pushing himself away from his desk, he left the office. Finding Wu working by his desk, Renard was about to ask whatever or not he'd find anything yet, when he abruptly halted.  
> “Nick?” The teacher looked up at his name. “What are you doing here?” he asked, worryingly. The last time Renard had seen the man had been yesterday when his Aunt had died. Approaching, he noticed Nick's clothes were wet from the rain and look awfully pale.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A new chapter is up, finally! I hope you will like it and I wonder; will you be able to find the moment in this chapter where Nick's grimm ability makes an appearance?

 

I opened my eyes and found myself lying on the couch downstairs. I don’t remember falling asleep. My head pounded, and my throat felt raw and sore, but otherwise, I felt numb and detached. A thunder rumbled, far off but drawing closer. I didn’t care. Aunt Marie is dead. I lost her yesterday, and I didn’t even have the chance to say goodbye to her. No, that wasn’t completely true. I'd had the chance – the opportunity to talk to her – but I'd been too scared, too much of a coward to listen to what she had to say. And now, I would never know what her dying words might have been.

I'd been such a fool.

Shivering, I pulled the blanket around my trembling frame. After I'd returned home from the hospital, I'd called Mr. Flaherty to ask him to extend my absent for a few days: enough time to take care about the necessary preparation. He'd been sympathetic, and most understanding.

> _“Of course, Nick. Take all the time you need. And don’t worry about work, your job will be right here when you return.”_

 

I had thanked him for his generosity, because truly, his kindness went far and beyond the norm, surely.

> _"Please do call me if there is anything else, I can help you with.”_

 

I haven’t called him, and I have not talked to anyone since. My phone had ringed a few times, of course, but I'd ignored it, too miserable to care to answer, to do much of anything. The hospital had given me a card for a recommended funeral parlor, but I'd not yet contacted them. The card was laying on the desk before me, taunting me. I turned my back against it, I didn’t want to see it, neither did I want to acknowledge the envelope lying next to the card.

It was from Aunt Marie.

A nurse had found it while cleaning out her room. I'd not have the strength to open it, nor exploring the rather large trunk that had been sent to me as a result of her death. I might be mad at her for lying to me all these years, but despite it, I still loved her. Losing her was like losing my parents all over again. The rain started to fall outside. I closed my eyes, decided to ignore the outside world for a little bit longer.

**~ ** ~**

The curtains over the half-opened window stirred in the freshening breeze, and thundering growled nearby. Renard stood up, shutting it.

“So,” he said, returning to his desk. “What do we have?”

“We have yet been unable to identify our man at the hospital,” Hank admits with a sigh. “And none of the missing reports matches his description.”

“What about the ring? Any luck with it?” Hank shook his head.

“Wu and I have spent hours looking over the variety of symbols of different memberships, but nothing. Either we have not yet found it, or-”

“Or it’s not a ring of membership,” Renard finished, rubbing his eyes tiredly. “What about our murder case? Any developments?”

“That we do,” Wu says. “Found the gun a couple of blocks away from the school, tossed into a dumpster. Most likely our unsub planned it to be picked up by the garbage truck the next morning.”

“Fingerprints?”

“Wiped clean, and the clip was empty too. Which is probably why the teacher is still breathing – he ran out of bullets. Damn lucky, if you ask me.” Renard highly suspect Nick would disagree with him, had the man been here. After what happened yesterday, Nick probably felt anything but lucky.

> _"No!” a raw sound of desperation tore its way out of him: the sound of a wounded animal. I grabbed hold of him, preventing him from going inside. "Time of death… 14:18.   p.m.” Crumbling in my arms, broken and weeping, he pressed his face against my shirt. I was surprised by the flicker of heat the proximity of his_ _body arouse inside of me; a sudden desire to comfort and soothe. I offered him a shoulder to cry on. His face and neck were wet from tears, and his body shook_ _uncontrollably. Unable to stand on his own, we carefully slide down to the floor, the wall firmly against my back. His hair was soft beneath my fingers as I brushed a hand_ _through it. He whimpered at the brush of my fingertips. I said nothing, because there was simply nothing to say. I felt his fingers, desperately holding onto me. I held him_ _tightly, finding myself fiercely protective of him, and I let him grieve._

 

The phone rang, snapping him out of it.

“Renard.” The conversation was over within a minute. “Well, yes. Thank you.” Disconnecting the call, Renard cursed under his breath.

“Not good news, I take it,” Wu comment, rather unnecessarily.

“That was Dr. Somersby from the hospital,” Renard tells them. “Our john doe passed away earlier this morning.”

“Dammit,” Hank mutters. Sighing, Renard leans back in his chair. “Do you want me to drive over to the hospital and talk to the coroner?”

“Yes, please.” Hank immediately rose to his feet. “And I want you,” Renard said, pointing at Wu, “to try and ID our vic.”

“Yes, sir.” Both men left in haste. The lightning strikes came faster now, one after the other. It really was the beginning of a lousy day.

**~ ** ~**

I stood in the sidewalk outside of the precinct. Rain falling heavily, and thunder rumbled, far off but drawing closer. I was near soaking wet despite of the umbrella I'd brought with me from home. Cold water dripped down the back of my neck and beneath my collar, and my coat smelled of wet wool. Hurried inside, I paused and looked around, wondering to whom I might speak with.

The same officer who had been with Hank that night – Wu, if I remember correctly – sat at a desk, frowning. His frown deepened as I approached him.

“Mr. Burkhardt isn’t it? How can I help you?”

“Well, yes,” I replied, surprised he'd even remembered. I hadn’t seen him since the night of the murder, and my statement had been handled by either Hank or Renard. “I'm looking for Hank,” I said. “Is he around, by any chance?”

“Unfortunately, Hank isn’t here at the moment, but if you want to you can take a seat and wait,” Wu offered. “I don’t know when he will be back, however.” I chew my lip nervously. I could turn away. Call for a cab and return another day, but… My grip tightened around the plastic bag I carried.

“I'll wait, thank you.” Finding myself a seat, I sat down to wait.

**~ ** ~**

Growling, Renard shut the case file. He was annoyed, frustrated by the lack of result. The death of their john doe was the worst thing that could have happened, and if no one came forward or Wu fail to miraculously manage to find anything helpful, the man's identity might remain a mystery. Reaching for his mug, Renard growled anew finding it empty. Pushing himself away from his desk, he left the office. Finding Wu working by his desk, Renard was about to ask whatever or not he'd find anything yet, when he abruptly halted.

“Nick?” The teacher looked up at his name. “What are you doing here?” he asked, worryingly. The last time Renard had seen the man had been yesterday when his Aunt had died. Approaching, he noticed Nick's clothes were wet from the rain and look awfully pale.

“Oh, um, hello,” Nick replied. “I came to see Hank, but Wu told me he wasn’t here, so I decided to wait. I wanted to return the jacket he lent me at the night of the murder.”

“I see,” Renard said, frowning at the bag at Nick's side. “And yes, Hank is currently at the hospital talking to…” Renard trailed off. Perhaps death and hospitals weren’t the best of topics consider the circumstances. “He is away on a case,” he ends up saying.

“I should have called beforehand,” Nick said, fiddling nervously in his seat. “It’s just… I feel horrible for not having done so sooner, but with everything that has happened, I sort of forgot it.”

Renard was truly struggling to get his head around the fact that Marie Kessler had been Nick's Aunt. Their personalities couldn’t be further apart. Had Nick not confirmed it down at the hospital, Renard would have denied any such claim. But Nick had told him the truth. Nick and Marie Kessler were indeed related by blood – dangerous blood. And with its discovery brought some rather uncomfortable questions. Did Nick know about his Aunt, of what and whom she was? How many she'd slaughter? Killed for no other reason than deep-rooted prejudice against their kind? Renard wasn’t naïve. Some of the blood on Marie Kessler’s hands were well-deserved, but far more wasn’t. Marie Kessler was a far greater monster then any wesen, and as far as Renard was concerned, the death of the woman was justice long overdue.

A full body shiver seized the younger man, and Renard felt an unexpected pang of concern.

“Can I offer you something warm to drink while you wait?” Renard offered. He might be digging his own grave, but Renard was simply being smart. There were too many questions unanswered, and what better way to fill in the blanks then going straight to the source?

“That would be lovely, thank you,” Nick replied, smiling wide at the suggestion. Renard’s heart made a sudden thump in his chest. Perhaps 'keeping your enemy closer' wasn’t the wisest course of action.

**~ ** ~**

“I’m sorry,” I said yet again. I sat shivering in the stool in Renard's office, my sopping wet coat removed, however, despite no longer wet, I couldn’t seem to get warm, as if the cold day had crawled in through my skin. Renard carefully set a tea tray down at the table between us.

“What are you apologizing for?” He poured a cup, then gave it to me. The heat burned almost painfully against my cold skin.

“There's rather a lot to choose from, isn’t there?” I asked, ruefully. “But my complete lack of dignity yesterday would be one of them.” Not to mention withholding information on an ongoing case or imposing him in such an unfashionable way. Surely, the Captain had better things to do than serving me tea. “I swear, I’m not always such a-” Burden? Embarrassment? “ _mess_ ,” I finally said.

“There is no reason to,” Renard replied. Pouring a cup of tea for himself as well, he settled cross-legged in front of me. “It's only natural to mourn the loss of someone who is dear to us. Besides, consider what you have been through the last couple of days, I hardly blame you for being a little bit of a mess.” A large lightning flashed outside, and I almost spilled my tea.

“S-sorry,” I stammer. “Ever since the shooting, sudden noises make me jumpy. I know I am being irrational, but I can’t seem to help myself.”

“On the contrary. I think your behavior is quite expected. Being shot at is not something to take lightly. It’s only natural to fear for your life. We are only humans after all.”

“I apologize. I didn’t mean to imply–”

“I know, don’t worry about it.” Smiling tentatively, I took a sip of my tea. The heat hit my belly, warming me from the inside pleasantly. Sighting in content, I took another sip. I was still cold, but not horrible so.

“Thank you,” I said, grateful for the kindness Renard had bestowed me with. “I know you’re probably swamped with work, and I suspect time is a bit of an essence.”

“True,” Renard said, putting the cup down. “But don’t worry. My detectives are already engaged with the cases. Also, no matter how critical a situation might be, it’s  important to take the time to rest. If not, you are bound to make mistakes, and in this line of work, a mistake can be all the difference between life and death.” I understood the logic behind it, but I still felt slightly bad for imposing on Renard the way I did. “Honestly, you’re doing me a bit of a favor.”

“Oh?” Curious I watched him over the brim of my cup. Our eyes met, and despite my best effort not to, I found myself mesmerized. I'd never seen anything like it before. The deep shade of green, the slight touch of hazel. There was no other word for it. They were beautiful. Blushing furiously, I asked, “Bad morning?”

“Something like that,” he conceded. I'd waited patiently for further explanation, but he didn’t offer any and I didn’t push. Whatever it was, it was clearly taking a tool on him. He looked exhausted, as if he hadn’t slept much the last couple of days. I could relate only all too well. “And as such, your visit is welcome distraction.”

“I’m glad I can help,” I replied. “What you did for me at the hospital…” The phantom touch of fingers ran through my hair then, and a heat that had nothing to do with the tea heated my body. “It’s the least I can do.”

“Where you close?” Renard asked. Blinking, I watched him with confusion. “You and your Aunt,” he clarified.

“Well…” I took a sip of my tea, stalling. I didn’t feel comfortable talking about my relationship with Aunt Marie. I wasn’t ashamed of my past, or god heavens the woman herself, I loved her far too deeply for such a thing, but the subject usually brought the conversation to my parents, and that was a can of worms I did not yet felt ready to share with Renard. It was too personal.

Putting the cup down at the table before me, I said, “Yes. But over the last couple of years we somewhat drift apart. She had her life, and I had mine. We tried to keep in touch as much as possible, but it was quite difficult. However, when her sickness became too much for her to handle on her own, I insisted she seek out care close by. I wanted to be there for her.” Renard nodded in understanding, and despite the sensitivity of the matter, I had just lost her after all, I felt calm, safe even, rather than jaded and hurt talking about her. “But in the end, I failed her.”

“Nick, she was dying. There was nothing you could have done to change the outcome.”  

“I know, and I am not talking about her health.” I felt my throat thickening. I swallowed, forcing the words out. “Right before she died, Aunt Marie tried to tell me something, but instead of listening, I ran away.”

“How come?” he asked; a rapid spark of interest lit up his green eyes as his sharp gaze boring into mine – drilling into my soul. I lost the ability to breathe all over again and suddenly speaking seemed like such a foreign concept. I was lost for words.

A clock was ticking somewhere nearby. It sounded painfully loud in my ears. And for a brief moment, I could swear I'd pick up the soft beating sound of Renard’s heart under the rumble of thunder, gust of wind and rain shattering against glass and concrete. I blinked. The undercurrent of sounds vanished, as if I was pulled back from the realm of sleep – a dream? I could no longer hear a clock ticking, nor any heart but my own. Perhaps I'd dozed off for a second.

“She said something about my family I didn’t want to hear, personal things,” I said. “I got upset and left.” _And now, I will never know what it was she wish to tell me_ , I thought sadly. The letter from her, waiting at me at home was a bitter reminder of it. Had she written it shortly after I had stormed off? Or long before that? Even before admitting herself to the hospital? More questions, many of which would probably remain unanswered. “When she died…” I continued. “The regret of leaving her was, and still is, overwhelming. If I'd just stayed and listening, then perhaps I would have understood the situation – my family, better. But instead I fled in fear, anger and self-pity. I left her alone, dying among strangers. What was her last thought before she died? Was she scared, in pain, guilt? Did she wish, like I, that our last conversation hadn’t ended in such a terrible manner? The sadness she must have felt, the regret…” Heat burned behind my eyes and, much to my dismay, my hand shook awfully.

“I can forgive the lies, the deception because that’s what family are for. True, it will take some time to adjust, but in the end, I will. It’s my own behavior that I won’t be able to accept, however.” The burning sensation behind my eyes grew hotter, more intense, and I bit my lip hard to keep it at bay. There was no solvation to the pain I felt, and I'd deserve every second of it.

**~ ** ~**

Renard sat still, observing the man before him with keen eyes. There were numbers of things Marie Kessler could have told Nick the day of her death, but since the matter revolved around family it left only a few options available.

     Such as the bloodline of the grimm’s.

Renard was tempted to ask Nick more about it, but it might do more harm than good. If Nick honestly did not harbor any ill intention towards him, then his insensitivity by questioning him could potentially push Nick away. And for some reason, Renard loathed the idea. Still, he couldn’t let his guard down. He'd been fooled by a pretty face too many times in his life. He could simply not afford to fall victim for another honeytrap, no matter how he felt for the younger man. Besides, if Nick was indeed playing him, then Renard’s eagerness in the matter could tip Nick off, causing the teacher to withdraw instead of exposing himself for the hunter he is.

“How long had she been sick?” Renard asked. Naturally, it had been quite the surprise when Nick had revealed his relationship with Marie Kessler, but even more shocking was the fact that she – _a grimm!_ – had manage to seek treatment at St Vincent Hospital without Renard’s knowledge.

“Aunt Marie was diagnosed with cancer about a year ago,” Nick told him. “But it was only recently she admitted herself to the hospital – three weeks, give or take.” This was an outrage! How this crucial piece of information had slipped pass him was unacceptable. Marie Kessler was a ruthless killer with no compassion or heart. It was Renard's job to know what went on in his Canton, as Captain, as Royal, and he had failed miserably. Putting the cup down with more force then intended, Renard decided to change to topic. If not, his self-control might snap.

“I know the timing might not be ideal, but I was wondering if you perhaps remember anything else from the night of your attack? Something you forgot to tell us, anything at all?” Nick fidgeted in his seat, looking rather uncomfortable. Renard straitened up in his chair, his suspicions towards the man back in full force. “Nick,” he said, coldly. “Withholding evidence in an ongoing investigation is a serious offense. I can have you arrested for obstruction of justice.” The reaction was instantaneous. Nick's eyes widen; his skin turning alarmingly pale, and for a second Renard regret his action.

“O-of course, I wasn’t… I mean. I know, and you have my full cooperation,” Nick stammered. The horror Nick displayed looked genuine, and if Nick _was_ trying to con him, then the man was on hell of an actor.

“I didn’t mean to imply you were lying, but my statement still stands. You must be truthful about what happened. I can’t help you otherwise.” He received a nod, and Renard let the matter drop. At least for now. “Do you think you would be able to recognize the man if you were to see him again?”

“Yes, I believe so.”

“Good. I would like you to take a look at some photos, maybe we are lucky, and we have arrested him in the past. If not, then I will introduce you to one of our sketch artists.”

There was a knock on the door.

“Come in,” Renard said. The door opened, and Wu poked his head in.

“Mr. and Mrs. Nobel are here to see you, sir.”

“Thank you.” The door shut closed. “I hate to be rude, but I have to take this,” Renard apologized. “I will contact you about arranging a meeting.”

“Of course,” Nick said, standing. “I'll let you return to your work. Thank you for the tea and the company. It was nice.” Renard hesitated, briefly.

“Nick.” The man halted by the door. “You said family sees past each other’s flaws and mistakes; loves unconditionally. Then, surely your Aunt has forgiven you for running out on her.” Renard could see the glimmer of wetness in the man's eyes. “Besides, even if you weren’t there to say goodbye, your Aunt already knew how much you loved her, and that, in the end, is all that matters.” A single tear ran down his cheek; Nick quickly whips it away with the sleeve of his shirt.

“T-thanks.”

“You're welcome.” Then, impulsively adds, “One more thing before you go.” Reaching inside of his jack pocket, Renard said, “My card, if you remember anything, or just want to talk.”

Nick took the card, holding it carefully in his hand. Renard wasn’t sure why he'd handed his card out, Nick already had Hank's number to call if anything came up, but Renard couldn’t deny it eased his mind knowing Nick had his number, a way to reach him if the occasion ever arises. Then, Nick smiled at him, bright and genuine, and Renard forgot about logic and reasons all together.

**~ ** ~**

Stepping outside I was grateful to discover it was no longer raining. Looking at the card in my hand: white, surprisingly firm between my fingers; the quality of the paper was good, thick. _Expensive_. The letters were in deep black, bold and rich. I gently ran my finger over the name: Sean Renard. A flutter of warmth blossom in my belly, and despite my recent lost, I smiled.

Thunder growled again, but more distantly now, the storm moving on.

**~ ** ~**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and comments are my joy, please make my day a happy one.  
> Much love Nicole <3


	6. Memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I slide open the cutlery drawer with shaking hands, removing the largest blade I owned. Clutching the knife with me, I took one step towards the kitchen window, then another. I reached the window far quicker then I'd wanted. I, against my better judgment, I steeled myself – then quickly flipped the latch and hurled the window violently open.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is for WhiteManju. I hope you will enjoy it!

Returning to work was far less of an adjustment than I'd suspected. Maybe because I was only half present most of the time. I was still reeling high on emotions from the funeral. It had been simple, short. Just like Aunt Marie had wanted it.

“Alright class, that’s all for today,” I said. “I want you to read chapter five till next time. And, a fair warning, there will be a quiz.” The students groan loudly behind my back. I almost joined in. I wasn’t particularly fond of it either. Collecting my material, I exit the classroom. Making my way towards the joint office, I ran into Theodore with some students in tow. 

“Class over?” he asked, smiling gently. I smiled back. Among my co-workers, Theodore had been the first I met. I remember I'd been very nervous, but Theodore had been most welcoming, and as such, despite my reluctance to socialize, I have become to see him somewhat of a friend.

“Yes,” I said. I threw a fleet eye at the students behind him: 7 in total, mostly boys. It was one of the girls that caught my attention, however. “Your time to oversee this week’s detention?” I asked.

Her name was Theresa Rubel, a well-known troublemaker among the staff. I knew her by reputation only. The kid skipped class pretty much daily, after all.

“It is,” Theodore replied. “And speaking of, I better get this show on the road. I will see you later Nick.” And with that, I resumed my walk towards the office.

Taking a seat behind my desk I seriously consider taking an early lunch. I wasn’t hungry per say, but it would keep my mind occupied for at least half an hour. If not, my mind would instantly fall back to Aunt Marie and the funeral. Every time I shut my eyes, I could see her coffin, how it had been put to ground; buried under dirt and sand. I felt sudden sick to my stomach. Shuddering I reached for a piece of paper and a pen. I'd have the idea ever since Renard brought the subject up about introduce me to a sketch artist a few days back, but with everything with Aunt Marie and a funeral to plan, I'd not yet had the time or energy to go through with it. Until now, that is.

The first lines were the hardest. It had been years since I'd last drawn anything more complicated than a stickman. I doubt my artistic skills are anywhere near the professionals, but I thought it would be a good idea to get it down on paper while my memories are still fresh. I also hoped it would help to make some sense of the horror I'd seen that night. I still hadn’t ruled out the possibility that I had gone crazy and seen things that wasn’t there, but why now? Surely, if I'd developed a brain tumor, there must have been signs, right? It doesn’t just happen out of the blue. It takes time, gradually. Then again, what do I know. I wasn’t a doctor.

I start working on the nose. It had been crooked, I remembered. As if it had been broken too many times.

If what Aunt Marie had told me was true, that I was a descended from this family, a race of – what? Inhumans? Superhumans? Freaks? – then what? What do I do with it?

The lips, then the hair. Dirty blond.

Can I just go on with my life as if nothing has ever happened? I doubt it would be that easy, but what choice did I have? If anyone where to find out, surely, I'd get through into an insane asylum or god forbid, experiment on. Another shiver ran up my spin. The drawing, however, helped calming me down. It kept me focus. I was about to do the eyes when my hand halted above the paper. The image of burning red, glowing in the dark sent my heart racing. The pen fell out from between my fingers. My hands shook horribly. Perhaps this hadn’t been such a good idea. I'd plan on doing another sketch of the man, drawing him as the beast I'd seen that night, for my eyes only, of course. At home, however. School was far from an ideal place of drawing such a thing. Too many people. And people talk. The last thing I'd want is for someone to accidentally see it and start questioning my sanity. God knows I'd do it plenty on my own as it is. Putting the drawing aside, I decided to take a break. It was time for lunch anyway.

**~ ** ~**

Thankfully, the lunch room was quite empty by the time I got there. Reheating the left-overs from yesterday’s dinner. Nothing fancy, just pasta and a simple sauce with mushroom. Consider my lack of energy to practically anything this last week, the fact that I even have something to eat with me is pretty much a miracle in itself. Taking a seat, a safe distance away from the others, I seriously consider going away for the weakened. Somewhere away from the emotional chaos that had become my life lately. Away from work, the pain of lost and death, murder, strange monsters and mayhem. A fresh breeze of air, little R&R. Perhaps some alone time would help me feel alive again, because in the last couple of months, I'd felt pretty rundown. To say I was in dear need of recharging was an understatement. Unenthusiastically, I took a bit of my food, and despite not eating much this morning, I wasn’t particularly hungry.

“Hello, stranger.” I watching Juliette taking a seat next to me.

“Hello,” I replied. I always found her company welcome rather than tolerable, and with her overlong chestnut curls and bright green eyes she was damnably beautiful too. It’s such a shame her beauty didn’t do it for me – or any other woman for that matter. Not that she knew, not that any of my coworker new about my fondness for the male body. Not to suggest I dislike any of my coworkers – well, Davis being the exception, so much as I never felt comfortable with people in general. I didn’t know what to say, and my attempts at small talk generally failed miserably and made social situation even more awkward. “I hope my absent didn’t cause you too much of a trouble,” I added, feeling slightly guilty having left my workload on her shoulders.

“Oh, god no, there was no trouble at all,” Juliette hastily replied. “Seriously, Nick, with everything that has happened to you lately, I’m glad I could help.” She gently placed her hand on mine. “How are you holding up, Nick? Seriously, I’m surprise you’re back to teaching so soon.” I'd been gone for a week; at the time I'd assume a single week was more than enough, but now, I start to regret my decision not to take Mr. Flaherty up on his offer to take another week off from work.

“I have been better,” I said, honestly. Juliette looked at me sympathetically.

“Well, now it can only get better, right?” Her try to cheer me up was endearing, and I was sudden very grateful to have her as a friend. Smiling I replied, “Yes. You’re quite right.”

“A toast,” she said, raising her glass. Laughed at the silly gesture I joined her. “For better times.”

“For better times,” I mimicked, bringing our glasses together with a clink. It felt oddly satisfied, and just like that, I felt more optimistic than I had since this whole disaster came crashing down on me.

**~ ** ~**

Reaching the porch of my home late in the evening, staff meeting had taken longer than expected. I'd brought some takeaway on my way home, too tired to cook, and now balanced it on top of an armful of books while I unlocked the door to my house. Putting the books on the table in my living room, I stepped into the kitchen to fetch a beer. As I did, the sudden, overwhelming conviction I was being watched swept over me.

I spun around, almost knocking over the box containing my dinner. But there was nothing, of course: just the empty room with its yellow walls, the night pressing against the windows. Just my imagination.

“Maybe I need a weakened away more than I thought,” I said, taking a sip of the beer. A soft sound came from the direction of the window, as if claws scraping against wood, accompanied by a sort of growl. I put my back against the wall and stared fixedly at the window. It must be a bat.

Bats weren’t active in late October.

An owl, then. No doubt the light from my window had disorientated the poor thing. The soft growl came again. Goosebumps ran over my skin, the hair on my neck standing up in ancient, unreasoning fear. That sound had come from no owl.

I slide open the cutlery drawer with shaking hands, removing the largest blade I owned. Clutching the knife with me, I took one step towards the kitchen window, then another. I reached the window far quicker then I'd wanted. I, against my better judgment, I steeled myself – then quickly flipped the latch and hurled the window violently open. Cold air flooded in. Keeping my knife at the ready, I cautiously peeked my head out, looking around. The night was silent and still, except for a car engine turning to life nearby. No owl flew away, startling by the open window, nor was there any other movements close by.

Annoyed, I shut the window and redid the latch. I was too old to jump at shadows and imagined noises. It had probably been nothing more sinister than a stray dog running past my backyard. Even so, I drew the curtains tight before returning to my dinner and cold beer.

 

The rest of the evening was uneventful. No more odd noises intruded, and I was able to focus on the drawing before me. I ate my dinner in my sofa, hunched over the table and adding details on a cheap pad of paper.

I did not look in the direction of the window.

Unaware of the time, I was able to finish the sketch of the man that had tried to kill me. I did even manage to make a portrait of the beast I'd seen. That one had been trickier since it had been far too dark to make an accurate assessment of the thing. But still, the likeness was as best at it would be. Discarding the empty box and beer bottle in the kitchen, I decided to call it a night. I cheeked the locks and windows one more time before I went upstairs to my bedroom where I quickly brushed my teeth and slipped out of my cloths.

I opened the drawer of the nightstand, intending to grab the charger to my mobile phone. The drawer was otherwise empty save for a single object. The photograph was as simple as its silver frame; the portrait of a happy couple in their golden age. My parents. I had been eight when they had died. A car accident, the police had told me that night. I picked up the photo and ran my fingers over the cold glass covering their faces. The police had told me their death had been instant. They had not been suffering. A small consolation for a young boy who just lost his whole world. What would Renard say if I told him about their death? Would he pity me? Offering his condolence despite not even knowing them; knowing me? Even though there was nothing untoward for Renard to discover about me, no matter how closely he looked into my activities, not to mention my sexual orientation, I couldn’t help but to feel those green eyes had seen more of me than I intended.

I returned the photo to the drawer and shut it.

I didn’t want to be looked at. It was unsafe otherwise. I wanted to be left alone, in my small insignificant life and lonely bed, which remained cold even after I'd crawled beneath the covers.

**~ ** ~**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and comments are my joy, please make my day a happy one.  
> Much love Nicole <3


	7. Clarity Part I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Why didn’t you tell me?” Monroe asked, glaring madly at me. I blinked. What now? “She was your Aunt, man.” Oh, right. I haven’t even told him about that yet. “I know you think you must deal with everything on your own, but you don’t. Seriously, Nick. The two of you might have been related by blood, but she wasn’t your only family.” Struck by intense gratitude, I choked. A simple 'thank you' seemed not enough to express how I felt. Not even close. Failing to come up with something suitable, however, I decided to settle with what I had. Even if it was rather plain considering the circumstances.  
> “You’re a good friend Monroe, the best I have. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about Marie, but it happened so fast. Then I got so wrapped up with the attempt on my life that it slipped my mind.” Monroe made a sharp ninety-degree turn, glaring at me accusingly.  
> “What attempt?” Honestly, I couldn’t kick myself hard enough. Resigned to my fate, I said, “Coffee?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can only apologize at the bottom of my heart for the late update, I thought I had posted this chapter already, but it turned out that I had not, in fact, done it. So, dubble chapter this time around! 
> 
> Enjoy, and please don’t forget to leave kudos or a little comment

A loud knock on the door rose me from my slumber. Slightly disoriented I discovered I'd been sleeping on the sofa in the living room downstairs. _Why am I not in bed?_ I wondered. Then, I saw the stack of papers on the table, spread out with red marking on them. That’s right. I had been grading tests the evening before. I must have accidentally fallen asleep.

There was another knock on the door. More persistently this time.

Groaning, I sat up. What time was it anyway? Not finding my phone nearby, I gave up. Whatever. It was Sunday anyway. Reaching the door, I quickly run a hand through my messy hair, hopping it wasn’t standing out too much. The moment I saw who was waiting on the other side, my worry about my appearances instantly deflated.

“Monroe,” I said, grinning. “What are you doing here?” The flannel clad man looked everything between anger to relief. I quickly let him inside. Monroe entered with no words of greeting or anything. I was immediately concerned. “What’s wrong?” I asked. I'd knows Monroe close to five years now. It all had started when a student of mine: Roddy Geige, a musical genius, had invited me to come to one of his performance, and as the still new teacher as I'd been at the time, I had been only too happy to accept. That’s when I met Monroe. He'd been sitting next to me during the show. I hadn’t given him so much as a second thought as I had been too mesmerized by the music at the time to really care. At the end of the show, however, Monroe had introduced himself. The memory was still quite precious to me.

>   
>  _"Monroe,” he said, extending his arm, clearly initiating a handshake. Still awed by the wonderful music, I shook his hand. My usual anxiety towards stranger momentarily forgotten._
> 
> _“Nick,” I replied. He had rough hands, I noticed, but not a carpenter's hand, no, something else… Something far more fragile?_
> 
> " _N_ _ick Burkhardt?” he asked, a spark of recognition in his eyes. My briefly subdued unease was instantly back, kicking and screaming. I carefully broke free from his hand, running my now sweaty palm on my trousers._
> 
> _“Well, yes,” I said, uncertainly. “Have we met before? If so, I’m afraid I don’t remember.”_
> 
> _“Nah, don’t worry about it, man. We have never met in person, but I feel like I know you from all the talking Roddy has been doing.”_
> 
> _“Oh,” I replied, feeling quite idiotic by my lack of response. “You know Roddy?” I felt the urge to kick myself. “I mean, of course you know him, obviously.” My cheeks burn hot with embarrassment, and I felt the collar around my neck sudden too tight. I could only pray I wouldn’t make more a fool out of myself by fainting right then and there! Monroe, much to my chagrin start laughing, however, I quickly realized it wasn’t the laughter of mockery or degradation, but that of joy and genuine pleasure. It made wonders for my fried nerves. I, much to my relief, found myself relax and a warm, pleasant feeling enveloped inside of me. It felt good, nice even. My shoulders dropped, and I wasn’t in dear need to flee the premises any longer. And much to my surprise, I smiled._
> 
> _“Man, I haven’t laughed that hard in a very long time. I feel like I should buy you a beer or something as a thank you.” I didn’t know what to say, but I should probably put myself out there; get to know a few people._
> 
> _“I wouldn’t turn down a free beer,” I said, sounding far more confident then I was. “If, of course, the offer was genuine.” For a split-second Monroe looked bewilder, but it swiftly turned into a grin wide enough to show off some teeth._
> 
> _“Absolutely man!” Monroe eagerly agreed. “A friend of Roddy is a friend of mine.” I felt a rush of happiness at the word 'friend'._
> 
> _“You said Roddy has been talking about me? What exactly has he told you?” I asked, cut between interested and dread._
> 
> _“Relax man. The boy had nothing but good things to say about you; how you stood up for him when no one else did. Without your interference, Roddy would had gotten expelled.”_
> 
> " _I only did what was right,” I objected. “Roddy is a smart kid; with a bright future ahead of him. He wouldn’t jeopardize it over a pity prank such as releasing a bunch of rats in the school cafeteria. Not to mention, Roddy would never leave incriminating evidence behind. It was clearly stage; that someone was trying to frame him. Anyone with a pair of eyes could see he had nothing to do with it.”_
> 
> _“Don’t sell yourself too short, man. You earned Roddy’s respect that day. Not an easy feat I might add. Trust me. It took weeks before the kid even showed up at my house for practice.”_
> 
> _"You play, too? Are you any good at it?”_
> 
> _“You bet your ass I am,” Monroe replied, smiling. I chuckled, and it was surprisingly hard to stop._

 

I did later learn that Monroe had been the one who encouraged Roddy to pursue his love for music. I am glad he did.

"Why didn’t you tell me?” Monroe asked, glaring madly at me. I blinked. What now? “She was your Aunt, man.” Oh, right. I haven’t even told him about that yet. “I know you think you must deal with everything on your own, but you don’t. Seriously, Nick. The two of you might have been related by blood, but she wasn’t your only family.” Struck by intense gratitude, I choked. A simple 'thank you' seemed not enough to express the gratitude I felt. Not even close. Failing to come up with something suitable, however, I decided to settle with what I had. Even if it was rather plain considering the circumstances.

“You’re a good friend Monroe, the best I have. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about Marie, but it happened so fast. Then I got so wrapped up with the attempt on my life that it slipped my mind.” Monroe made a sharp ninety-degree turn, glaring at me accusingly.

“What attempt?” Honestly, I couldn’t kick myself hard enough. Resigned to my fate, I said, “Coffee?”

**~ ** ~**

“That’s when the police arrived.” I poured a cup of coffee, then gave it to him. “I’ve never been so relieved in my life.”

“I read about it in the papers,” Monroe said. “But I'd never suspect it was about you. Your name was never mentioned.”

“I suspect I have Renard to thanks for that,” I tells him, pouring a cup of coffee for myself as well. “He asked Mr. Flaherty to keep my involvement a secret from the other teachers, and I can only assume he kept my name away from the press since its still an open case.”

“Renard, is that one of the cops?”

“Well, not really. He is the Captain.”

Monroe took a sip, then said, “Make sense. Either way, it was rather nice of him. I can’t imagine the press would give you much of a breather otherwise.” Probably not. What I'd heard and seen from various sources the experience was something out of a nightmare. I was seriously considering sending Renard a fruit basket for his consideration. I doubt Renard was much of a fruit-kind-of man, however. Coffee, perhaps?

Thoughtful, I took a sip of my coffee. Pounder the idea in my head. The idea of having coffee with the man sent a pleasant warmth in my belly. Or, was it because of the hot liquor I'd just consume?

Staring down at the black surface of my coffee, swirling around, around and around, almost out of control, just like my own life as of lately, I struggled not to lost myself in self-pity. I felt suddenly very exhausted, despite my earlier slumber.

“You look like shit, man,” Monroe comment. I chuckled humorlessly.

“Yeah.” There was no point in denying it. I did feel like, as Monroe so elegantly had put it, like shit; jaded, _old_. “I’m not going to argue with you, there,” I said, sinking back into the chair. “And if I’m being honest, as long as the killer – whoever he is – is still out there, I won’t be able to relax, not completely anyway. What if he tries to finish the job? It won’t be too hard considering he knows where I work.”

“He can try,” Monroe growled, almost feral. “I will personally rip his throat if he ever gets near you again. I can promise you that.” Under any other circumstances such a vow would have been reassuring and profoundly appreciated, but because of the tone of red in Monroe’s eyes, as brief as it was during his emotional proclaim, I fail to take it at true value. The shade of color was simply too similar as those eyes I'd seen that night for comfort. _It’s nothing_ , I thought. _Just a trick of the light_. Noticing how the mug slightly shook in my hands, I quickly put it down. Worried I'd cause an accident otherwise.

“Thank you, Monroe. I can’t ask for a greater friend. I-”

The phone rang.

“Excuse me,” I said, standing. “I promise I will be quick.”

“Don’t worry, man. Take the time you need,” Monroe replied, refilling his mug. “I have nothing else planned anyways.” I thanked him, and then hastily went to fetch my phone. That by the sound of it, where coming from the inner pocket of my coat.

Unknown number. Frowning I answered. “Hello?”

“Nick? It's me.”

The air stuck in my throat, and inside my heart swelled. It was Renard.

**~ ** ~**

Monroe sipped his coffee unhurriedly. There was no rush, and Monroe was more than happy to spend some quality time with Nick. His concern for his friend’s wellbeing had eating him a great deal these last couple of days. It felt good to see him again. Feeling the anxiety seeping out of him, Monroe basked in the domestic pleasantry.

“Yeah, sure. Of course. No problem at all.” He heard Nick say in the background. Nick had as long as Monroe had known him always been on the shy side, but this was something else. Something _more_. Intrigued Monroe watched Nick over the brim of his mug. His friend was not exactly pacing back and forward, but it wasn’t far off. Furthermore, and Monroe could be wrong, but Nick looked a bit rosy on the cheeks.

Interesting.

Monroe decided to stick his nose where it doesn’t belong. One of the perks of not being entirely human, were the capabilities ordinary humans lacked. Such as heightened smell, among other things. Sniffing his friend was not a habit per say, but it had helped him a great deal in navigating his friendship with the younger man. Nick was, despite his looks, surprisingly hard to get to know. He tended to build forts around himself, layers upon layers of brick walls and reinforced concrete. His reluctance to open up to other people; then adding his bashfulness to the mix, made social interaction dear near impossible. Monroe was therefore extremely glad to have such an advanced nose. It helped him understand Nick emotionally. Every person and creature had its unique scent, personally modified to the individual’s, well, in lack of better word, soul. Like a fragranced fingerprint of sort. It changed slightly over time, as the person grew and evolved, but the core was always the same. It was also in tune with one’s emotions. This is what Monroe tapped into. He used Nick's s _cent_ as an indicator how to handle his antisocial friend. Someone might call it rude, a breach in privacy, and in a way, it was, but for Monroe it was more like a natural respond. Instinct.

It was also due to his primal instinct that he met and befriended with Nick that night at the concert. Nick may believe their friendship blossomed out of luck and random circumstances, but luck had nothing to do with it. The moment Monroe had stepped inside of the building, the wolf inside of him instantly caught Nick's scent: fresh rain on a sunny day with a touch of sweet honey and rich caramel. One whiff and Monroe were spellbound. His beast had howled with approval, and Monroe had spent majority of the time before the concert was due to start trying to locate its source. Monroe remember feeling quite foolish, rushing around and sniffing the air. In hindsight however, it had been well worth it. Nick was a good friend. Probably the best one he'd ever had. When Monroe finally had found the owner, he'd been quite surprise to learn it belong to a man rather than a woman. It was rather uncommon for a man to have such a sweet based scent instead of the usual trait of spice and earth. More intrigued than ever, Monroe had not hesitated in his approach. Nick – still a stranger at the time – had been sitting on his own, waiting for the show to start. The scent had been more potent up close, but never overbearing. There had only been one person before Nick whom had caused a similar reaction, and that being Rosalee, his wife. At the time Monroe had been confused, how his inner wolf could react this strongly to anyone else that wasn’t his mate; towards a man, nonetheless. Now, however, it only makes sense.

Nick was pack.

Not that Monroe will ever be able to tell him that. Or any part related to his wesen life. It saddened him deeply. Knowing Nick would never truly learn just how fundamental he was to Monroe, or why. Still watching Nick from afar, Monroe was surprised his friend was still talking. Not being his fort and all that. Anyhow, it provided him with a window of opportunity. Taking a deep breath, expecting the usual smell of summer rain and sweetness he'd come to associated with his younger friend, Monroe was shocked when it didn’t. The scent of rain, honey and caramel were still there, but underneath it was the hint of spice that hasn’t been there before. Something strong, wild, like an electrical charge. _Thunder_.

Frowning, Monroe put his mug down. Yes, the fragrance changed depending on his mood: happiness enchanted the sweetness of the honey while anger smelled like burned caramel. But despite the variety, the aroma was always origin from the essence of Nick. This added component was something completely new. Monroe was very much concerned. Was Nick sick? But no, Monroe knew what cancer smelled like, and this wasn’t it. Then, why?

Sighing, Monroe drained the last of his coffee, then rose from his seat and put the mug in the sink. As he turned around, however, he accidentally bumped the stack of papers causing it to tumble all over the floor. Cursing under his breath, Monroe went down on his knees and started rapidly collecting the papers when something drew his attention. The thickness of the paper was different, thicker, and instead of scribing it was picturing a face, hand drawn and despite the simplicity of it, Monroe knew instantly what he was looking at. After all, he saw it every day in the mirror.

It was a Blutbad.

The papers on the floor instantly forgotten, Monroe stared at the drawing in his hands. His mind running wild with speculations; question upon question at the tip of his tongue. Where did the drawing come from? A student, or had Nick done it himself? If so, how? Had he actually seen a Blutbad? The idea of Nick bearing witness to such a transformation without proper explanation, or warning before hand, filled him with dread, then rage that quickly morphed into an overwhelming urge to protect. Nick was his friend, a pack member. Family. _No one is hurting my family_ , Monroe thought, gritting his teeth.

Something hit the floor.

The sound snapped Monroe back instantly. Looking up, he saw Nick, pale as if he'd seen a ghost. The phone laying on the floor next to his feet, momentarily forgotten.

“Nick, what–” Monroe’s heart stopped dead in his chest. _Dear God_ , thinks Monroe as he stared at his friend. Nick looked right back at him.

His eyes were pitch black.

**~ ** ~**

Ending the call, I couldn’t stop grinning. I know I was being silly. It's not as if Renard had called to ask me out on a date or anything of the sort. It was straightly business. The nature of the call had simple been to schedule a meeting with a sketch artist. Still, it had been good to hear his voice. As I entered the kitchen, however, my smile instantly dropped. Before me I found Monroe on his knees, surrounded by papers and ungraded tests. And in his hands, he held a drawing.

It was my drawing of the beast.

The phone slipped out of my hand. I barely acknowledge it, too horrified by the implication the finding might entail. I'd already lose Aunt Marie, I couldn’t bear the thought of losing Monroe, too. Anything but that.

“Nick, what–” The way he looked at me, fearful and uncertain. It made me sick. “Did you make this?” He asked, slowly raising to his feet. I didn’t know what to say. I'd hate to lie to him, but the truth was out of the question. What would Monroe think of me if I came clean, about everything? Ending our friendship and never coming back, that’s what.

“Its… I mean, it belongs to a student of mine,” I said, pushing down the rising guilt inside. “I must have accidentally taken it with me when I collected their tests after class.” I wasn’t much of a liar and could only hope it been convincing enough to fool Monroe. Much to my relief, Monroe seemed happy with the explanation, and said,

“Oh. I guess it's something a kid would draw.” His smile didn’t reach his eyes, but I greedily took what I could get. “Anyway.” Monroe grabbed his jacket hanging at the back of the chair. “I need to get going. It was nice seeing you, man.”

"Yeah. Thank you for stepping by,” I replied, unsure how to navigate the situation. “Give my regards to Rosalee.”

“Of course. I will see you later, then.” And before I knew it, Monroe was gone, and the door tightly shut behind him.

I felt like weeping.

**~ ** ~**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and comments are my joy, please make my day a happy one.  
> Much love Nicole <3


	8. Clarity Part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A wave of nausea hit me hard and dread filled my veins.  
> He is calling to end our friendship.
> 
> Clutching the phone like my life depended on it, I replied, “S-sorry. I didn’t mean to.” I didn’t mean that my last words to you to be out of annoyance, that is. “Monroe, I---”
> 
> I choked.
> 
> Why did you run away earlier? Was it because of the drawing? Of course, it was. There could really be little else. But why? Was it that hideous? Do you think I’m mad, now?
> 
> Is this our goodbye?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was anything but easy to write. I sincerely hope that the remaining chapters won’t be as difficult to get down on paper, so to speak. 
> 
> Enjoy, and please don’t forget to leave kudos or a little comment.

The glass slipped between her fingers, falling, shattering as it hit the floor. The sound abnormally loud in the otherwise quiet room.

“W-what?” Rosalee stared, shocked at her husband. She'd been in the middle of doing the dishes when Monroe had all but stormed into the house as if hellhounds were panting down his neck. He'd been sickly pale, panting and frantic. But despite the horror in his eyes, there were also a spark of excitement, _hope_. There could be many reasons behind her husband's behavior, this however, she'd not expect.

“Nick is a grimm,” Monroe repeated. The light exhilaration, now, burned with great intensity. Rosalee could only relate to it far too well. Nick was a dear friend, family, really. He'd even been Monroe’s best man at their wedding. Being unable to share such a major part of their life with him was tearing at them both. The idea of finally include Nick about wesen, about their world; welcome him to their family completely, was thrilling, but deeply terrifying.

If what Monroe said were true, and Nick was indeed a grimm, then perhaps some secrets were meant to be kept in the dark. Not that Rosalee harbored any doubt about Nick's loyalty, nor his love towards them and their family; his deep affection for their kids. It was, however, difficult to suppress centuries of prejudice and learned behavior taught at a very young age. Her whole life, and long before that, grimm had been danger, the largest bogeyman of them all. Exposing themselves, their true selves – _her family_ – went against everything she was taught as a child. Nevertheless, her instincts told her, reassured her even, that she, they, could trust Nick with their secret. But most of all, with the life of their children.

“Are you sure?” She asked, still having a hard time believing her husband, and rightfully so. A grimm was cruel, arrogant, with no shred of compassion in their body; quite the opposite of what Nick had in spade. Nick was kind, humble and good hearted. He was nothing like a grimm. In fact, he was everything but a grimm. It was only natural to doubt. “I'm sorry Monroe, but we have known Nick for years,” Rosalee stated. “We have left him alone with our children on a multiple occasion. If Nick is a grimm, surely, we would have known about it by now. Or at least seen some indication about his inhuman nature.”

“I know, and I completely understand what you’re saying, but I’m telling you, Nick is a grimm.” Sensing her doubt, still. Monroe said, “His eyes turned black.”

Oh.

“Then, there is the matter of his scent,” he goes on saying.

“What about it?” She asked, frowning. Rosalee was secretly quite fond of Nick's smell. The sweetness of it reminded her about her childhood. How she as a young kid spend every Sunday morning baking goods with her mother. Rosalee had many joyful memories with her mother, but those early mornings held a special place in her heart. Nick's scent helped reminding her about it, and as such, she would always be grateful to him.

“It’s been altered,” came the reply. Now, Rosalee knew he was lying, and she wasn’t happy about it. Rosalee told him as much. “I’m not kidding,” Monroe promised. “The basic component of his smell is still there, but now… I don’t know how to explain it. Just, _more_.”

“That’s impossible,” she insisted. “You know as well as I do that each scent is unique to the person. It doesn’t just change.” Monroe huffed out in frustration.

“Well, I guess Nick is the exception of the rule, then.” Rosalee wanted to argue but judging by the hint of red in his eyes, she wisely kept her opinion to herself. Upon noticing her apprehensive, Monroe immediately reeled his inner wolf in. Scaring her was, and never will be, anything he'd strive for. He'd love her far too much. “I’m sorry, love. I didn’t mean to scare you,” he said. She accepted his apology, of course. “At first, I couldn’t find any rational explanation, because, like you said, the individual scent is unique, and for it to sudden change is quite unheard of. But, when I saw his eyes, it all made sense. If Nick has turned into a grimm, resulting with his DNA, his _core_ to be altered, _evolved_ into something else, something new, then, surely, it would only be natural for his scent to develop as well, right?”

It was a lot to take in, but Rosalee couldn’t fault the logic. It made sense, after all. Rosalee sigh. “Alright then,” she said. “Would dinner at seven be acceptable?” Monroe knitted his eyebrows, confused. “You’re going to tell him the truth, right? A dinner invitation is a great reason to ask him to come over as any, is it not?” Monroe grin wildly. He'd had the best wife ever.

“I'll call him straight away.”

**~ ** ~**

After Monroe all but fled my company I'd thrown myself into my work, desperate for a distraction. In hindsight, I guess I should be grateful. Without it, I doubt I would manage to wrap it all up as quickly as I did. Too quickly, perhaps.

“Now what?” I asked aloud. There was no reply, of course, and the silence in the house was weighing heavily on my aching heart. _I should never had drawn that stupid picture_ , I thought. If this was what put their years long friendship to an end, I'd never forgive myself. The phone buzzed beside me.

Putting the pen aside, I picked it up.

“Nick,” I answered, not even bothering to hide my lack of enthusiasm towards whoever was calling me.

“Oh, wow. You sure know how to make a man feel all warm and fuzzy, don’t you?” Monroe said dryly over the phone. “It’s a true mystery to why you’re still single, spouting flattery like that. Or am I just that special?” I was too dumbstruck to reply. Was I dreaming? Did I accidentally fell asleep while grading papers? I must be. Or---

A wave of nausea hit me hard and dread filled my veins. He is calling to end our friendship. Clutching the phone like my life depended on it, I replied, “S-sorry. I didn’t mean to.” I didn’t mean that my last words to you to be out of annoyance, that is. “Monroe, I---”

I choked.

Why did you run away earlier? Was it because of the drawing? Of course, it was. There could really be little else. But why? Was it that hideous? Do you think I’m mad, now? Is this our goodbye? I wanted to ask, every one of them, but I couldn’t. I was too scared of what I might hear.

“--- dinner?”

“Excuse me?” I said, because surely, I must have misheard. “I didn’t quite catch the last bit.”

“I was asking if you would be up for dinner at our place tonight?”

There was only one answer I could possible give.

**~ ** ~**

Later that same evening I found myself standing at the porch outside Monroe and Rosalee’s house, fidgeting nervously with a bottle of _Point Noir_ in my hand. I'd not yet knocked, and I felt increasingly stupid as time passed, but I was too nervous, _terrified_ even. Ever since that awful moment with Monroe this morning, I did suspect my years long friendship with the man had come to an inevitable end. It had hurt considerably, the idea of it. Monroe was a great friend – best of friends actually but if Monroe had come to the conclusion that they could no longer be friends, I would have understood, and with it, accepting it with a last, painful goodbye. Which is why, when Monroe had called to invite me to dinner, I did not know what to believe. I was, of course, awfully grateful to still be invited into their home, but I couldn’t help but being a bit apprehensive. I had no idea what to expect anymore. I felt sick.

Inhale.

Exhale.

 _Calm down. Everything will be fine_ , I thought, trying to steady myself. It didn’t work. Unfortunately, I could not stall for much longer. Sighing, I rise my hand, then, quite reluctantly, knocked. The scrap of my knuckles against the hardwood door sound criminally loud to my ears. I wince; waited, then debated wherever or not to run back to my car, calling them to apologize that I wasn’t feeling quite well this evening. It was nothing but the truth, after all. Unfortunately, my plan of a hasty retreat fell flat when the front door sudden flew open. Not wishing to cause alarm I quickly masked my expression of dread.

“Nick!” Rosalee cheerfully greeted, then almost immediately indulging me in a tight hug. The relief I felt at the warm reception almost cause my knees to buckle. “I’m so happy you could make it.”

“Of course, thank you for the invitation,” I reply, returning the hug in delight. _I’m so glad I did not lose this_ , I thought, tighten my hold on her shoulders just a fraction. She didn’t seem to mind, thankfully, nor did she seem to find my eagerness particularly odd at all.

“It's just a formality, you know that, right Nick? You don’t need an invitation to come over. Our doors are always open for you.” I blinked rapidly, fighting desperately to keep my sudden tears at bay. I offered her a nod in reply as I found myself unable to speak, too emotional for any sound to break past the large lump inhabiting my throat. I felt a small pat on my shoulder. It kept me grounded. Clearing my throat, I broke the embrace. I instantly missed her warmth. Rosalee had always been a source of comfort to me. I was about to say as much when – _did she just smell me?_ Surely not, but I could have sworn she did, right before we parted completely. Not that I minded much, it was nothing but a small whiff after all, but a surprise nonetheless. _Perhaps she fancies my cologne_ , I rationalized.

“So, where is your, much less graceful half?” I asked instead, deciding to shrug the incident off since it was such a trivial thing. It was hardly important.

“Oh, Monroe? I suppose he is-”

“I heard my name!” Monroe called from, I can only guess the kitchen; I and Rosalee chuckled.

“Well, that answers that,” she said, grinning. “Come-on, dinner should be done in a few minutes.” I quickly removed my coat and shoes and followed Rosalee towards the kitchen. I was still quite nervous to what the evening might have in store for me, but despite that, I couldn’t deny their request for dinner, or any request for that matter. They were family, even more so now than ever, with Aunt Marie dead and all. The idea of losing any of them? I didn’t even dare to think about it.

Heaving a sigh, I stepped into the kitchen. It smelled wonderful, whatever it was, and I couldn’t wait to taste it.

“Nick, glad you could make it, man.” Despite myself I froze on the spot. Logically, I knew by the warm hospitality displayed from Rosalee earlier that I was indeed welcome, but my mind, however, instantly played out the event happened in my kitchen. The horror I’d seen in his eyes still hurt quite awfully. How was I to act in this situation? We had not exactly parted in the traditional of ways.

“I-I brought win,” I said, feeling like a complete idiot. “Hopefully, you will like it.” I quickly handle the bottle over, worried I would otherwise drop it because of my, now, sweaty palms. Monroe, far more knowledgeable about this sort of things than I will ever be, practically beamed when he saw the label.

“Dude, this is darn good wine!” He comments. “It can't have come cheap.” It hadn't, no, but at the time of the purchase I was unsure whatever or not this would, in fact, be my last supper with them, and if so, I wanted to express my gratitude for a years-long friendship. I'm still very much in the dark to their reason for asking me over for dinner, but Rosalee has already proven to me that I was still more then welcome, and I guess by Monroe too, consider in his, cheerful approached just now. “This will go perfectly with our dinner.”

Smiling he returns his attention back to the cooking, leaving me alone to my own advice, more confused than ever. Why? I wonder, watching Rosalee as she set the table. There had been no trace of the horror I'd seen in his eyes earlier, none. In fact, Monroe was acting perfectly normal. Almost as if the episode in my kitchen had never happened. Was Monroe ashamed of how he'd left my house? Is this his way of apologizing? Perhaps. My gut instinct, however, told me otherwise, and I wasn't sure how to feel about it. Taking a seat around the table, I highly suspect I would find out before the evening was over, whatever I wanted to or not.

 

Despite my inability to relax completely and enjoy myself, the evening turned out rather lovely. The food was delicious and - just like Monroe had predicted - mixed beautifully with the wine. But---

Over the brim of my wine glass I caught Monroe and Rosalee exchanging looks, it was subtle, I will give them that, but it had happened quite a lot during dinner and I was growing rather tired of it. “Right then,” I said, putting the wine glass back down at the table, eyes narrowed pointedly at them both.

“Whom of you are going to tell me what is going on?” The two froze instantaneously; their eyes comically wide and it was hard not to laugh aloud. “And it must be very important by all the looks you two have been giving each other all evening.” Another look was exchanged between them and, much to my surprise, I felt myself enraged. I’m rarely quick to temper, but their behavior was inexcusable. “If you have something to say, I'd appreciate it if you said it to my face instead of mocking me.”

“We didn't mean to offend you, Nick,” Rosalee said. I could see the sincerity in her eyes, but I was not ready to forgive them just yet. Something was going on and I wanted to know what. “We just… wasn't sure how to breach a particular subject, that's all.”

“What subj---” Then it hit me. Surely, it could only be one thing. “This is about the drawing Monroe found in my kitchen, isn't it?” I loathed to ask, but I saw no point in claiming ignorance. It wouldn't be fair to neither of us.

“It is, yes,” Rosalee confirmed. Sighing, I took another sip of wine. It's too bad they didn't have anything stronger on the table because consider the topic, I could really use it right about now. “Nick, did you make it?” She asked.

“I did, why?” I couldn't understand why they made such a big deal out of it. Was the drawing honestly that shocking? Sure, it had been somewhat odd, I admit, but surely there were far worse paintings out there for the world to see. What made my picture so darn special? I might have harbored shame for my creation not too long ago, but now---

“It's just a drawing, I can't honestly see why it would upset you so much,” I said, now, quite offended. “Is that why you invited me over tonight? To discuss my art?” Their faces were all the answer I needed. “I see...” My tone was flat; cold; detached. I barely recognized my own voice. The joy and gratitude I felt earlier to still be included had turned cold and bitter.

“I have done nothing wrong,” I insisted, and the moment the words left my mouth I realize my own stupidity to think otherwise. “Nothing, and yet I'm forced to sit here and watch the two of you treating me with such disrespect that I almost forgot that we are friends.” The expression of guilt was palpable, as if I'd just slapped them both. I didn't feel any remorse. I had no reason to. I was not the one in the wrong, after all.

“I don't have to take this,” I said, standing. I was hurt, and tired, and all I wanted was to return home. “Don't worry, I can find myself out.” The distinct sound of cutlery hitting porcelain; wood scraping against wood, so loud behind me, it almost overshadowed the voice at the back of my mind urging me to get out.

“Nick, wait!” Monroe called out, practically begging me to stay. I didn't, too wound up to do so. “Please, we---!” Reaching the door, I was about to leave when Rosalee cuts in. The effect was immediate. I stood, frozen on the spot with my hand, tightly, around the door handle.

“W-what did you just say?” I asked, trembling despite my best effort not to.

“Grimm,” she repeated. “Have you ever heard it before?” I didn't reply at first, wracked with fear and worry.

“I have,” I admitted. “Aunt Marie, she mentioned it briefly to me right before she---” What happened between Aunt Marie and I at the hospital - how I'd ran away - came flowing back mercilessly. Blinking back unshed tears, I forced myself to finish. “It was the last she talked about before she died.” A small hand landed on my arm then, squeezing gently. Turning I saw Rosalee, regarding me sympathetically. When did she move? I hadn't heard a thing.

“What did she tell you?” She asked, guiding me back to the kitchen. Despite my wish to go home, I let myself be moved around by her firm hand on my back. Once seated, I decided to answer her question.

“Aunt Marie told me I was a grimm, one of the last, apparently.” Then, far more bitterly, I add, “Now, whatever that means, I have no idea. Something about being able to see them for what they really are, but who are _they?_ ” Sighing, I rubbed my eyes tiredly. “The last couple of days has been a pure nightmare and…” I felt tears stinging at the back of my eyes. Embarrassed, I quickly wiped them away with the back of my hand, whispering, “I'm slowly losing my mind.”

“You're not losing you mind, Nick,” Rosalee said. Her reassuring, however, sound hollow and weak as I knew better then to hope otherwise.

“The evidence is quite compelling,” I argued. “The drawing Monroe found in my kitchen is only the tip of the iceberg of my madness. I didn't sketch it out of the blue, nor did I in an attempt to process the ordeal of my attack, no, I did it because I was desperate. What I saw that night…” I choked, then hesitated. Was it even wise for me to tell them? About everything, that is. What would they do if I told them about the monster I'd seen? How the man had all but _transformed_ into something--- inhuman, right before my eyes?

In the end, the urge to have someone to talk about it with, the chance of not having to deal with this alone, overruled everything else, even my fear of being rejected.

“The beast I drew is not a fictional character,” I continued, fiddling nervously with the wine glass in my hand. “It's a representation of what I saw that night. I know it's madness. How can a man turn from a human into something distinctively not human in a blink of an eye? Rationally, I know it’s impossible, but that's what I saw, truly, and when Aunt Marie start talking about 'grimm’s' and 'misfortune of our family', I honestly thought she was talking about mental illness. Now, however...” I looked up, watching them both, but Rosalee in particular. “You mentioned the word 'grimm' earlier, why?”

Rosalee seemed hesitant for a moment, but then, carefully says, “Because I - we -,” she corrected herself, “needed to confirm something.”

“Confirming what?” I asked, frowning.

She took a sip of her wine. “Whatever you're indeed a grimm or not.” Blinking, I looked dumbfounded at her.

“A what now?”

“Nick, what do you know about grimm’s?” She asked me.

“I… um, besides the common knowledge about the brothers grimm, not much,” I answered, utterly confused. “But I fail to see what two fairytale collectors has to do with anything?”

“It has everything to do with this,” Rosalee insists. “Those texts are not some mere stories you tell your children for fun, or at least not to us. To us they are all real.”

“Aunt Marie said something similar at the hospital, about it being all real, but surely you're not implying a creature such as the big bad wolf really exists.” Beside Rosalee, Monroe snorts. Which I honestly didn’t know how to interpret. Did he agree with my statement, or did he simply mock me? Before I can ask him, however, Rosalee asks me,

“Then how do you explain the beast you saw the night of your attack?” Good point, actually, but still.

“What you're suggesting is far more insane than my theory about suffering from a mental illness,” I replied. “And that doesn't explain Monroe’s reaction when he saw my sketch, or why the two of you insist talking about it. You said it wasn't an innocent fairytale to you, but in what way can it possible be _real?_ ” The pair gave each other a meaningful look, but mercifully it was over quick enough. I'm not sure I would have stayed on their request a second time this evening.

“Well,” Rosalee says, somewhat reluctantly. “There is one way to clear up a lot of questions, for all of us, but I'm hesitant to do so because of the impact it might have on you, Nick. Our approach to the matter might do you more harm than good, honestly.” To this I rose a skeptical eyebrow. What could possibly make matter worse? I was seeing monsters for crying out loud! As far as I'm concern, I was already damage beyond repair.

Interpreting my silence - quite correctly - to go on, Rosalee sigh. “Alright then, but remember Nick, what you're about to see, it is still me.” What can I possible say to that? Of course, it's still her, who else would she be if not herself? Frowning, I nodded. “Okay, here goes…” Whatever she was about to do, she looked awfully focus. I couldn't for the life of me figure out what she could possibly be up to. For me, she was, and would always be, Rosalee Calvert: a dear friend and wife to my best friend. No matter what she said or did would change that.

For a second nothing happened, she was still her pretty self when---

“What the hell!” I cried out, knocking the chair over in haste as I jolt back in fear. Before me sat Rosalee, still her, and yet someone completely different at the same time. Her face, no, not just her face, I realize, but her arms and neck too, probably her whole body, in fact, were covered in brown; orange; white fur. Her nose was brown and animal-like, almost like a dog, and her ears pointy and sharp. _She reminds me of a fox,_ was my first thought, and when I notice my wine glass, tipped over in my rapid retreat, my second automatically became, _how much wine have I had?_

“Nick, sweetie,” Rosalee said softly, as if she was trying to sooth a frightened animal. I should be offended, humiliated to be reduced to such a simple thing, but embarrassingly, it did help me calm down a bit.

“W-what…” _are you?_ I tried to ask, but the question seemed, well, _inadequate_. Nonetheless, it had to be asked. Clearing my throat, I tried again, “What are you?”

“I'm Fuchsbau.” Her face rippled then, and the woman I'd knew was back once more. I gasped. It truly was--- Hell, there was no word for it. Bending my knees, I picked the chair back up.

“A what?” I was quite proud of my wide range of knowledge, I had to consider my occupation, but I'd never come across that word before.

“That's what my specie are called,” she explained. “There are many different kinds of Wezen in the world, Nick and by the sketch Monroe saw at your place, our guess is that you encounter another type of Wezen.”

Slumping back down in the seat, I laughed aloud - wet and hysterical. My mind was racing with questions, hundreds of them, but there was only one question I truly felt the need to ask at this point.

“So, I'm not mad, then?”

“No, Nick you’re not.”

“I'm not mad,” I said, head in my hands. “I'm not mad.”

I'd never been more relieved in my life.

  **~ ** ~**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and comments are my joy, please make my day a happy one.  
> Much love Nicole <3


	9. Healing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Does Nick share his Aunt's morbid activity, if so, does he by chance know about my royal origin, too? Is the shy teacher just an act, an elaborated ploy to get me to lower my defenses to get my guards down, to deliver the final blow, or cut as it might. 
> 
> Could that really be it? This whole case, a setup? Surely not, but… What if? All they had to go on was Nick's testimony. What if the victim had been a wesen, and the one who had killed him had been none other than Nick himself? They hadn’t tested him for gun residue that night, too convinced he'd been nothing but a poor victim. Frowning, Renard leaned back in his seat. This could get ugly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, then. A new chapter is up, finally! It was just as much a joy as it was a pure nightmare to write it, but I hope it will be to your satisfaction. Two things before we move on.
> 
> 1\. The part about the hospital having their own index system of their patients due to their blood, purely fiction. I believe. I have no idea whatever or not such a thing exists, but it suited my needs to move the story forward. So, please. Don’t criticize me for it.  
> 2\. I didn’t notice until afterwards, but I have watching quite a lot of Sherlock Holmes the past few days and this chapter has been heavily influence as a result. If you are wondering. 
> 
> Oh, and all Star Wars fans out there, please don’t kill me.

Examining the cabbage in my hand closely, I carefully put it back down; selecting another which I found suitable and placed it in my cart. With everything that has had happened lately, I’d been quite neglected regarding the chores around the house. Such as grocery shopping, for example. Grabbing a loaf of bread, eggs and milk I made my way towards the register, having picked everything I needed. Almost there, I passed by accident the coffee shelf with a surprisingly large variety. Halting, I glanced them over with interest. _I wonder what kind of flavor Sean likes_ ; I can’t help but to think to myself. _Probably some fancy, overpriced brand I haven’t even heard of_.

“He certainty look like a man accustomed to finer things in life,” I mused. Chuckling, I kept moving. I felt good, great even. It had been so long since I last felt like this: lighthearted; free; able to breathe properly. I didn’t have to think too hard about it, however. The day the news about Aunt Marie’s illness, and unyielding faith was revealed was also the day the heaviness in my heart start to manifest. God, a little bit of over a year ago! And when she was hospitalized, it had only gotten worse, more real, permanent. Then the attack happened, followed by the matter about my own mentality. Honestly, consider everything I’d been through the last month – year, really – it’s a small miracle I’m wearing shirts and jeans instead of a straitjacket. Frowning, I waited in line. Only now able to really comprehend just how close to the edge of destruction I’d truly been, my gratitude for Monroe and Rosalee took an almost abnormal proportion. If not for their help, I’d not know for how much longer I’d been able to keep my head above water. _Probably not for long consider the speed I’d been sinking_. Paying the cashier, I quickly packed my stuff and left the store.

It was a scary realization, indeed.

**~ ** ~**

Slumping down in the sofa with a beer in hand, I let out a heavy sigh. The grocery was unpacked and tucked away; the house cleaned for the first time in weeks and a load of clothes were currently rolling around in the washing machine for the next hour or so. Taking another gulp of alcohol, I found myself at peace, more in control. Funny, how learning about monsters and beasts does for your health. Shaking my head in wonder, I thought back to the conversation I’d have with Monroe and Rosalee the previous evening. It sure was an odd enough conversation to remember for life…

> _“You know, I have never seen one of you before,” Monroe said, obviously fascinated by the whole matter. Myself, I was too overwhelmed by the fact that I was not going mad to feel much else. “I have heard about you guys my whole life, but never thought I do see one up close. A grimm. What do you know? And my best friend nonetheless,” he adds, chuckling, amazed._
> 
> _“You know about me?” I asked, my mind finally able to catch up with the rest of the world. And yes, apparently my mind had already accepted its new-found title as a grimm. I, however, was still struggling to grasp my head around it._
> 
> _“Are you kidding? My folks use to tell stories about you guys. Scared the hell out of me as a kid.”_
> 
> _“Um… sorry about that?” I said, not sure what else to say. This was so far out of my control I wasn’t sure what to do in a situation like this. It wasn’t as if school taught you how to react when you learn everything about the world as you know it is pretty much a lie. Not to mention everything you know about yourself! “Who are you? Are you a… what did you call yourself – wesen, too?” Monroe took a sip of his wine, nodding. “I see. Then, if Rosalee is a Fuchsbau, are you the same?”_
> 
> _“No, man. I’m a Blutbad,” Monroe replied. “And according to your ancestors, the big bad wolf.”_
> 
> _“The big-” Oh. Well, that explains the reaction from earlier, at least, I thought, remembering Monroe smirking at my comment about 'big bad wolf'. And by the large grin Monroe was shooting my way, I could only assume he was, too. A mortified heat surged to my cheeks. Wonderful, just wonderful._
> 
> _In the mist of my burning embarrassment, an inkling question, however, took priority. “Why did you suspect I was a grimm to begin with?” I asked. “I doubt it’s just the drawing that clued you in.” Because in the end, the sketch could have easily been brushed off as an overactive imagination, but Monroe’s reaction had been quite specific and the more I thought about it, the more convinced in my suspicions I became. Monroe seconds later confirmed as much._
> 
> _“Your eyes,” he said, as if it explains everything. It certainly didn’t. Upon noticing my confusion Monroe is quick to add, “When you people see us, for what we really are, your eyes turn pitch black, reflecting our form back for us to see ourselves.” Blinking, I stared dumbfounded at him._
> 
> _“You’re joking, right?”_
> 
> _“I wish I was, because it's creepy as hell, man, but no. So, you’re right, it wasn’t just the drawing that tipped me off. That said; however, the drawing was quite the shock, I must admit,” a soft chuckle on his lips. “Not what I’d expect to find in my best friend’s kitchen.” I smiled too, relieved beyond measures at this point. Monroe puts down the glass, his gaze surprisingly serious. “Nick, the beast that attacked you, did his eyes glow red by any chance?”_
> 
> _“They did, yes,” I answered, a bit stunned. “How did you know? I never colored the sketch.”_
> 
> _“You didn’t have to,” came the reply. I was about to ask him what he meant by that when suddenly dark red tainted Monroe’s eyes. Instantly, I was back in the dark alley behind school: paned down in fear by a pair of glowing eyes, burning in the night. Bright red, just like Monroe’s. “– see it every day in the mirror.” The familiar voice of the other man gently pulled me back to reality; the horror of the night faded and the cozy, bright led kitchen slowly returned around me._
> 
> _“What I saw in my kitchen, that wasn’t a trick of the light, was it?”_
> 
> _“No, it was not,” Monroe confirmed. “What you saw was a glint of my wesen form.”_
> 
> _“A part of?” I asked, frowning. Then, I felt the hair stood at the back of my neck. “But that means…”_
> 
> _“Yeah man, it looks like you were attacked by a Blutbad.” A whole-body shiver ran through me then. “Did you happened to see his face before he woge? Perhaps I know him, I doubt it, but who knows,” Monroe said, but I heard none of it. It was just too much, suddenly. Everything I’d just learn was too much for me to handle._
> 
> _“What she said is really happening to me.” A fresh wave of anxiety washed over me. I don’t want this. I don’t want any of this. “I have to stop it; how do I stop it?” I asked, begging for answers, a way out of this nightmare._
> 
> _“Stop it? You can’t stop it. It’s who you are.” But it’s not, I wanted to argue. This is not who I am! Who I am is a normal-underpaid teacher- with a sorry excuse of a social life! That’s who I am. Not--- not a Fairytale boogeyman!_
> 
> _“So, all the things I can see… I will continue see it till I die, and there is nothing to do about it?”_
> 
> _“We are not things, Nick. I – we – are still us,” Rosalee insisted. Were they? Were they really the same? I wondered. But then, it wasn’t as if I was in any position to judge, now was I? At least, not anymore._
> 
> _“But why now?” I asked. “I was just fine not too long ago; everyone appeared, well, normal.” When Rosalee replied, I was honestly surprised by her answer. If I had stayed and listen to what Aunt Marie had to tell me that day, would I’d be more accepting to my new heritage?_

Maybe.

 

Interrupted by the sound of the washing machine beeping from down the hall, my thoughts came to an abrupt halt. Sighing, I rather reluctantly left my comfort pose on the sofa.

“Why couldn’t my family have left me with some money like normal people?”

**~ ** ~**

There were many advantages of being a Captain, easy access to high recommended restaurants would be one of them but, as expected, it all came with a price, of course. Stuck in a boarding meeting was quite the sacrifice for a good stake.

“- as we can see, the crime rate has dropped with---” the voice of… What was his name again? Charles--- something, ranted. Whoever he was, the man clearly loved the sound of his own voice. “-unknown, but the statistic diagram to your left---" God. How was it even possible that no one had asked for a break? Or better yet, end this godforsaken meeting all together. Unfortunately, no one else in the room seemed to share his wish for a quick escape and there was – Renard looked at the time. 12:42. p.m. Dammit. Still another hour to go before his release. Someone asked a question, another one comment and Renard just hummed in reply - leaving it open for interpretation to whoever cared for his opinion. Clearly, no one felt the need to questioning further and the conversation went on. And on. And on. Renard tried to follow the direction of the conversation, he did, but after a failed fifth attempt, he gave up. The rapport would be on his desk by the end of the week anyway. As the meeting prolong, Renard’s mind wandered to Nick, and what to do about it. The matter was rather significant. Having a grimm in his region was far from ideal, unless, of course, Nick pledge his allegiance to serve and protect under Renard’s rule. A rush of heat hit him unexpectedly at the idea, and before Renard could stop his mind from running wild the image of Nick down on his knee, swearing his loyalty was already in full bloom.

Renard readjusts in his seat. It was a damn tempting sight. Taking a generous gulp of water in hope to cool down, Renard wonders if the reason to his excitement was over Nick's status as a grimm, or for the man itself. Frowning, Renard played with the pen in his hand. If Nick now even is a grimm. Aside from his relationship with Marie Kessler - and wasn't that a bitter pill to swallow - there was no real evidence to suggest he had inhabited his Aunts ferocious nature. The man was, well, sweet. It was difficult to imagine Nick doing anything more hideous than giving a student an 'F' at an exam. But no matter, Renard couldn’t rule out the possibility that he was being played. He had been fooled by a pretty face before, and Nick was… very pretty. What Renard needed was information, not a distraction. Unfortunately, the information Renard had managed to uncover, despite his vast resources was slim and insufficient, ordinary and common knowledge. It said nothing of real importance, or which stand to take regarding Nick. If it's revealed to him that Nick is indeed a grimm, then his options how to act in the matter was down to two choices: offer Nick a safe haven in exchange for his loyalty; the second option---

Renard felt his stomach twist uncomfortable. If Nick refuses to obey, then--- sending the teacher away wasn’t sitting well with Renard; killing him off even less so.

Sighting, Renard put the pen aside. He was going in circle. The fact is, without further investigation he simply didn’t had enough information about Nick and the situation to draw anything conclusive.

Yet.

 _First, I must survive this hellish meeting,_ Renard thinks, desperate to escape. Sadly, there was nothing for him to do but to endure. So, endure he did.

 

The instant the meeting declared over, Renard was up and out the room. _About bloody time,_ he thinks. A moment longer and he might have ended up murdering them all. Slowly, and quite possibly with his bare hands. Hoping to minimize social interaction as much as human possible Renard dismissed the lift, opting for the stairs instead. However, there were those with complete lack of any sense of self-preservation that, despite Renard’s all but welcomed demeanor still tried for tedious reasons, surely, to catch a moment of his time. Renard promptly ignored them, making a beeline for his office instead. He was in no mood for shallow pleasantries.

Reaching his office Renard rapidly locks himself inside. Hopefully the shut door was a clear enough message. All that was amiss was an 'enter at your own risk' poster to complete the look. Renard made a mental note to buy one later. Slumping down in his seat, Renard sigh deeply. The meeting had drained him mentally, and the teetering stacks of file folders on his desk did not improve the situation in the slightest. Rubbing his eyes tiredly, Renard wished he'd had something to cure his tiredness.

Preferable coffee. A lot of it.

Unfortunately, the black liquor the precinct had to offer could hardly be called such a thing. In fact, Renard was having difficulties to even identify the horridness of the poorly imitation of the real thing. _And consider the newly decided budget, I doubt we can afford to replace the old coffeemaker for a better model,_ thinks Renard, begrudgingly. Flipping the notepad open for today's meeting, Renard does a quick look over, honestly surprised when he sees notes irrelevant to the meeting but instead about Nick. He must have been truly absorbed in his thoughts to do such a careless thing as writing it down. What if someone saw it? His carelessness could accidently put Nick in harm's way. Or, forbid, discovered by Nick himself. The thought of Nick finding it sent a shiver down his spine. About to rip the page out of the pad, crumble it and toss it away, Renard then found himself hesitate. It could be helpful, to write down his thoughts and take notes of his discoveries as it came; to hopefully help clear up the mess in his own head. Renard let the page be. He could always throw it away later.

“I have to keep this away from any prying eyes, that’s for sure.” Tapping the surface of the desk with his index finger, pondering for a moment, Renard sigh, reaching for a pen and start writing where he left off.

> **Does Nick share his Aunt's morbid activity, if so, does he by chance know about my royal origin, too? Is the shy teacher just an act, an elaborated ploy to get me to lower my defenses to get my guards down, to deliver the final blow, or cut as it might.**

Could that really be it? This whole case, a setup? Surely not, but… What if? All they had to go on was Nick's testimony. What if the victim had been a wesen, and the one who had killed him had been none other than Nick himself? They hadn’t tested him for gun residue that night, too convinced he'd been nothing but a poor victim. Frowning, Renard leaned back in his seat. This could get ugly.

“This is why I hate insufficient data,” Renard mutters, running a hand through his hair. “No way to tell one thing from the other.” If Nick was playing him, it was bloody working, too. He might not have known Nick for long, but the short time they have spent together – despite the ill circumstances – the teacher had already managed to carve out a personal spot in his otherwise heavily guarded heart. Most people would say a little too guarded, and they are probably right, too. Call it occupational hazard, if you might, but with his royal blood – bastard as it might be, tends to draw out those who wish to take advantage of such a prestige status one way or the other. It was simply unwise to carry his heart on his sleeves. Which is why Nick's ability to penetrating his armor with such ease is… well, problematic. Honestly, Renard didn’t know whatever to be impressed or concerned.

And perhaps that’s where the root to his current predicament lays. His infatuation with Nick keeps the man, unavertable so, untouchable. Renard couldn’t treat the teacher as he would to any other, with a calculating, objective way, because Nick was unlike any other Renard had ever met.

It had been far too long since he'd been this excited.

Feeling a bit rejuvenated, the workload ahead of him felt slightly more manageable. _Still, some coffee would be nice, though…_

There was a knock on the door. Apparently, the message wasn’t clear enough. Muttering under his breath, Renard bid enter to whoever was brave enough, or perhaps foolish was the proper word for it, to seek out his attention.

“Hank,” he greeted. “What can I do for you?” The amusement in the detective's eyes were palpable, and Renard took an instant disliking to it.

“Sir, Nick is here to see you,” Hank, politely informs him. “Come on, sir. There is no need for such a serious face,” the comment left much to desire, and his already deep frown deepened further. As much as Renard wish to wipe that smirk off from Hank's face, he couldn’t deny a certain rush of joy at the announcement. “Of course, I could always ask him to come back another time, since you seem to be, _preoccupied_ at the moment.” Hank gestured at the pile of files at the desk.

“No,” Renard hastily replied. Too hastily? Hank grinned smugly at him. Yes. Definitely too hastily. Groaning Renard tried to ignore the irk to throw something at him, but unfortunately there was nothing too heavy, or sharply enough to cause the desired harm. Pity. “I have an appointment with him regarding doing a sketch on the man who attacked him. I thought it might help us hurry along the identification on our suspect since we have not much else to go on.” Hank's grin stayed firmly in place. In fact, Renard would say it grew even wider, how that’s even possible he has no idea, but he hates it, and deeply regret not investing money on a pair of very deadly letter openers. “If we are lucky, it might give us any new leads.”

“New leads, of course.” Hank agreed, solidly. However, his eyes sparks of mischief. It was obvious the detective found great joy in the situation. “Should I fetch him for you, then?”

“If it wouldn’t be too much of a trouble,” Renard said dryly.

“Oh, not at all sir! It would be my pleasure,” came the cheeky reply. Renard shot him an angry glare in response. Hank cracked, chuckling. Sighing, Renard gave up, too tired to keep fighting. It was clearly a lost battle anyways. Better end while he still had some dignity left, as slim as it might be.

“Just let him inside.” He pleaded. Gratefully, Hank left, leaving Renard alone in the office listening to the detectives booming laughter. Renard made a mental reminder to buy a handful of letter openers on his way home. Maybe some bookends, too? It would fit nicely next to the new letter openers. “Preferable a pair in solid marble.”

“T-thank you, Hank. For the jacket and all…” stammered a soft voice. Hank's 'You’re welcome,' came shortly after. Something else was said between them, but Renard was unable to pick it up, too low, but whatever it was left the teacher blushing adorably.

“Here you are,” Hank said, gesturing Nick inside. Nick hurriedly shot off another string of gratitude before Hank left the two, smiling like the cat that caught the canary. _Insufferable prick_ , Renard thought. Secretly hoping the man tripped, or someone shot him in the ass. Renard vote for the latter.

“Hello Nick, how---” Renard’s greeting was abruptly cut short. He did not mean to, but his higher brain function completely abandoned him. In Nick's hands where not only one, but two takeaway mugs. “Is that---” Praise the Lord. “Coffee?”

**~ ** ~**

Taken back by the question, I stood dumbfounded.

“Oh, um, yes? I walk past this cozy-looking little coffee shop and thought I'd try it out. Ever since Aunt Marie passed away, I have been rather isolated and reluctant to try new things.” There was no reason to let Renard, who surely is quite the social butterfly, to know what a truly antisocialist I'm. Without Monroe and Rosalee's intervention from time to time I doubtfully would even leaving the house for anything besides work. Food or anything else could be ordered or fixed by either phone or the Internet after all. What a marvelous world we live in. Except, you know, people going around shooting one another. Not to mention the whole secret society of shapeshifting beast posing as humans. A cold dread seized me momentarily, and my recent joy was once again overshadowed by the burden my newfound identity had bestowed me with.

“I’m glad to see you’re enjoying society once again, and with such a gusto, too,” Renard said, eyeing the second coffee mug I’d carry with amusement. Blushing hotly under his gaze I inwardly cursed my pale complexion for its lack of concealment. There was no way to hide the state I was in and the fact it was all out there for Renard to see plain as day made the heat grow exponentially worse.

“It’s for you,” I, oh so very tactfully blurt out. My cheeks could practically set paper on fire by this point. If only the God would grace me with some mercy, perhaps opening the floor underneath my feet’s, I would be most grateful. Surely that wouldn't be too much to ask. Unfortunately, the floor remained as solid as ever. Forced to carry on in shame, I promptly start to explain myself. I’d not wish to give out any wrong signals after all. Not that I had any kind of signals to broadcast to begin with. “I thought, perhaps you would fancy something with a bit more--- _character_ , then the coffee that’s served here.” Not to mention I would feel like a jerk sipping good coffee on my own while Renard did not, but I kept that part to myself. “Black, with sugar, right?”

“I’d say I’m in dear need of a decent cup of coffee, actually,” Renard confess. I felt stupidly pleased with myself. “And yes, that’s how I prefer it. How did you know?” Taking that as my cue, I stepped up to his desk. Upon realizing my approach, Renard swiftly closed a notepad - a red one, I noted - and put it aside. Consider the sensitive nature of his work, I thought nothing of it. Handing Renard his drink, I found myself at the receiving end of a tooth-showing grin. The naked expression of gratitude sent my heart leaping like nothing else. Averting my eyes, quickly, I sat down in the chair in front of the desk.

“That’s the way you ordered it at the hospital,” I offered as an explanation. Still avoiding eye contact - my heart would surely burst otherwise - I took a gulp of my coffee. Perhaps not the wisest course of action, considering, but it had to do.

“The hospital - you mean, you remembered it after only hearing it once, and even after such a horrible event?” I took another gulp, pushing the ever-growing lump back down my throat. The death of Aunt Marie was still raw and tender, and I suspect it would remain as such for quite some time still.

“I have a good memory,” I replied, only to regret it instantly. I wasn't the type to brag about certain skill sets I excelled in, or about anything, really. It isn't who I am, and I'd hate for him to believe otherwise. “Sorry, I didn't mean to…” I tried explaining, but---

“Impressive.” The comment, so earnest it left me hanging; floundering with a reply. What could I possible say now, when he has made it obviously clear that he thought nothing of the sort? When nothing came to mind, and since I was quite keen to avoid any further embarrassment, I offered a simple, sheepish smile in return. _Best to leave it up to Renard where to go from here,_ I thought, and stayed mute for the time being. “And the coffee isn't too bad either, pretty damn good actually.”

The slight frown, the up tilt at the corner of his lip - as if he was generally surprised by this - confirmed my earlier suspicions. Chuckling I said, “You're a bit of a coffee snob, aren't you?” Grinning around the rim of the mug, our eyes met, and despite my best effort to break it, the connection remained. The man truly had beautiful eyes: deep green, with a splash of hazel and brown. I could stare at them for hours, if I was allowed the opportunity, that is.

“I’m, yes,” Renard replied, still smiling. His smile is beautiful, too, I noted. Not that much of a surprise, really. Everything about the man was beautiful, and despite knowing I wasn't particularly bad looking myself, I can't help but feeling inferior in comparison. I took a sip of my coffee, now lukewarm at best. “We all have one or two things in our life that we indulge ourselves with - I'm sure you do, too - and fine coffee just so happens to be mine.”

“Somehow I doubt your indulgent is limited to just one or two,” I counter playfully. Laughing really brings out the green in his eyes, I thought, bewitched all over again.

“Your assumption is correct. May I ask what gave me away?” A spark of curiosity blend through the amusement in his eyes, and I suddenly felt as if I was being tested somehow. But in what, or what fore, I couldn't tell. Rubbing my now sweaty palms against my trousers I timidly replied, considering my words with great care. The last thing I wanted was to offend him. Especially since I could, with time, of course, see him as a potential friend.

“Well, your clothes for starters. The first time I met you I could instantly tell you put considerable time and effort into what you wear, and consider the fitness and the fact that the stitches are being handmade, I do say it's tailor made.”

“What else do you see?” Renard asked, clearly fascinated. As I seemingly had been correct in my assessment so far, I immediately felt better at ease.

“It's not only your cloths,” I went on. “But your overall appearance in general. Your hands, for example, should be rough and calloused resulting of years of practice with a gun, but when I gave you your coffee earlier, your palm felt surprisingly smooth. This tells me you're using a hand cream on daily basis. Why, I can't tell, but my guess, it's all about superficiality. Your nails are neatly trimmed and well cared for, too. A visit to a nail parlor, perhaps?” I mused. Honestly, I couldn’t particularly visualize Renard at a nail parlor, but maybe he enjoys the atmosphere? Putting the thought aside for the moment I returned my attention to the man before me. What else could I see? A whole lot of beauty and sexiness, that's for sure, but there was no way I could tell him that! Flustering, I took a deep breath to--- oh! Chuckling, I said, “Of course you would wear such an expensive cologne. _Royal Mayfair_ , right?”

“It is, yes,” Renard confirmed, frowning slightly. “How could you tell? It's not too potent, I hope. I'm rather particular about what cologne I use.” Concerned he took a whiff at his collar, but clearly found nothing wrong with it.

“The touch of Scottish Pine is rather distinct,” I explained, grinning at the obvious display of self-consciousness. It was quite adorable, actually. “And a dear friend of mine works as an apothecary. I guess my scent of smell has improved a bit over the years as result.”

“Hmmm,” Renard hummed, relaxing slightly in his seat. I bit my lip hard not to laugh again. It amused me to no end that even someone as handsome as Renard could experience insecurities now and then.

“By your description, I seem quite shallow.” There was no malice in his voice, or any trace of hurt whatsoever. In fact, the man sounded rather amused.

“It does, doesn't it,” I replied lightly. “However, it could all be a front. With your position as Captain, I'm sure dress-for-success is mandatory. You could, for all I know, dress like a slob in the privacy of your own home.”

“That's true,” Renard agreed, looking awfully pleased. Smiling, I swallowed some of my coffee when---

“Then, who am I? The shallow prince, or the sloppy pauper?” Coughing and spluttering on my coffee, I frantically tried to compose myself. Renard practically beamed in his seat.

“You did that on purpose,” I wheezed, shooting him an accusing glare over the desk. However, it must not have been a particularly vicious one considers how his face lit up with impish glee as a result. Amused I shook my head, and despite my best effort not to, my lips creep into a smile. “You bastard.” Not expecting the reaction, I received at the comment - a flash of something, almost akin to hurt - I nearly missed it. But why? There had been no malice in my tone, not to mention it had been said in good humor. Frowning I---

“What's it gonna be?” Renard asked, smiling back at me. I blinked. It was gone. Whatever I'd witness, unintentionally surely, were no longer there; I almost dismiss what I'd seen, as fleeting as it had been.

Almost.

Putting the mug aside, for safety reasons, I replied, “Well, it's a tough question. I'm sure being a Captain demands more out of you then just doing your job. You must look the part, too; acting as well. A far more demanding job then one might think.” _Very much like teaching_ , I reasoned. “Not that you mind, because if you did, you would have quit a long time ago. No, you enjoy it: dressing up and surrounding yourself with fine things. That said, you're not completely shallow, but rather sentimental, too.”

“Oh, am I, now? And why is that?”

“Your watch.”

“My watch?” I nodded, then, “May I?” I asked, gesturing at the item. I watched him carefully removed it.

“Thank you. This is a George Daniel, a highly expensive clock, but it’s a couple of years old, six at least if I'm not entirely incorrect. Strange to wear a late model if appearance is all there is to it, no? If it held a sentiment value, however…” Turning the watch around, grinning when I saw the engraving at the back. “Your mother?” I handed it back to him.

“She bought it for me as a gift when I was promoted to Captain. Do you perhaps have a personal interest in watches? You seem to have quite the knowledge on the subject.”

“I can imagine she must have been so proud of you,” I said, feeling a bit envy of the man who knew what it felt like to have a loving mother - to be her proud and joy. Yes, Aunt Marie had loved me, in her own way, but it was still not the same thing. It never was. “I wouldn't say I have an interest per se, but my best friend work as a clockmaker. I guess all his talk about it has rubbed off on me.” Renard nod at me in a nonverbal understanding.

“I'm sure yours would be too if she'd still be alive. Your assessment of me was most impressive. Not even my most skilled detective could make a profile that accurate that fast.”

“Honestly, I'm just amazed as you're. I have always been observant, even as a kid, but it has never been quite this extreme.”

“Is that so? Does that mean I'm special?” A mortified heat surge to my cheeks.

“That's… w-well, I mean---” Stammering, I licked my lips nervously. I felt sudden too hot and itchy under my collar, and I wanted desperately to leave the room. Unfortunately, that wasn't an option. “Shall we, as they say, get down to business? You mentioned meeting with a sketch artist over the phone.” Renard's smile dropped slightly, and I almost regret mentioning it altogether.

“Yes. I thought it might help us with our investigation. I know it might be difficult for you, consider the circumstances, but if you think you're up for it, I would highly appreciate it.”

“Of course, if you think it might help.”

“Thank you. I will call him over immediat---.”

“Actually, that won't be necessary,” I said, reaching for my shoulder bag. “I suspected you'd have me sit down with a sketch artist sooner or later, so I decided to make one of my own.”

“You drew this?” Renard asked, observing the drawing I'd handed him.

“I know I'm not as good as a professional artist, but I thought it might save us some time.”

“If teaching ever gets too boring for you, I'd be more than happy to offer you a job. Not only is your profiling superb, but your drawing skill is top notch, too.” I was definitely blushing now and _for no good reason, honestly_. Renard send me a smile and I fought the urge to respond in kind, _because really what is wrong with me?_ The discussion was about catching a killer. There was no reason to be all giddy inside.

“Thank you for the offer. I'll keep it in mind.”

“Please do.” And that's my cue, I thought.

“I'd better let you get back to work then,” I said, standing reluctantly. Honestly, I wasn't yet ready to leave his company, but I'd rather not overstay my welcome. Besides, judging by the clouds outside the windows it seems as if rain wasn't too far away. Better to make haste before the downpour. “If there is anything else, I can assist you with, please don't hesitate to call. I want the son of a bitch locked behind bars more than anyone.” For a moment Renard looks slightly surprise, and it only takes me about a second to realize why. “S-sorry, I don't normally use such a language. Working with kids and all that.” _Seriously, what's wrong with me today? Not only are my deducting skills on steroids, but my manners seem to have taken a holiday._ “Anyway, it was good seeing you,” I said, feeling more awkward than I'd been in days. Grabbing my bag, I quickly made my way towards the exit, desperate to leave before I made a bigger fool out of myself then I'd already done. Before I reached the door, however---”

“Nick.” Cursing internally, I turned around. “I promise you I'd everything in my power to catch him. Rest assure I won't stop until I do. He killed a man, then tried to kill you too, which is unforgivable. Do you understand?” My throat sudden too dry to speak, I simple offered a nod in reply. After such a powerful declaration, I was now more eager to leave than ever. “Oh, and Nick?” _What now?!_ I doubt I will survive much more. My heart was already beating far too fast to be healthy. “It was nice seeing you, too.” Oh god, that smile. “And thank you for the coffee. I seriously owe you one.”

“A-anytime…” I stuttered. Could I be anymore pathetic? “Goodbye, sir.” Mortified, I fled the room. I nearly run towards the exit in my retreat. I didn't care how it made me look, all I wanted was to get out of here. The instant I was safe outside I slumped against the wall, breathing deeply. The fresh air helped calming me down somewhat, but my heart was still hammering painfully hard against my chest.

“That smile of his should be downright illegal.” _It was nice seeing you, too_. “Dammit.” The memory alone was enough to set my blood on fire. Sighing, I shut my eyes. “Maybe I should keep a distance. Any proximity between us is clearly not good for---”  Instantaneously my eyes flew open.

_Someone is watching me._

Frantically scanning the crowd - jumping from one place to another, I tried to catch whoever was watching me, but there were no one particularly who stood out. In fact, I couldn't see anyone who payed me much, if any attention at all. Swallowing nervously, I shoved myself from the wall. My knees shook slightly. _Perhaps I should get back inside. Surely Renard knows what to do in a situation like this._ Returning to Renard's office and locking myself inside under the man's protection was indeed tempting, but in the end, I decided against it. I had no proof, just a feeling - a very creepy feeling, but nothing else. No. Until there was something more concrete to go on there was nothing Renard nor his men could do to help. Impatient to get home I quickly jumped into my car, wondering not for the first time what the hell I'd got myself into.

**~ ** ~**

Tossing and turning in my bed, I tried unsuccessfully to fall asleep. I should have no problem succumbing to the exhaustion I felt, but my mind refused to shut down, even for a second - too wrapped up in the day's earlier event. Or, technically yesterday's event since it's past midnight. I'd hoped to find some peace once I was back home, safe and sound, but I was still as tens as I was while outside the precinct. When I'd been watched. Or had I?

Sighing I flipped over to lay on my back. I wonder… Starring at the ceiling I start doubting myself - again. It could simply be a matter of my imagination playing a trick on me. Consider everything that has happened the last couple of weeks it wouldn't be that far of a leap. However--- “It felt so real.”

 

Eventually, I gave up on sleep and decided to spend the rest of the night reading. Between work and Aunt Marie's illness taking priority, it had been ages since I'd been able to sit down and just enjoy myself. Walking downstairs I continued to the living room where I kept the majorities of my books. Ever since I was a little boy I'd loved to read. It amazed me, and still do, how someone can create such fascinating adventures - whole new worlds with their imagination. In difference to Renard who seemingly has an endless of material pursuit, my passion lay solely in the magic of literature. Of course, drawing was a delight, too, but it was in the art of fiction where my heart truly belongs. Looking through the books on the shelves I picked out a mystery novel and sat down on the couch, curling up with a blanket. After reading half of the book, I knew the ending. Slightly frustrated by the lack of entertainment the book had offered me in my time of need, I put it back on the shelf. About to choose another one, my attention was drawn towards the window.

“When did it start to rain?” I hadn't even notice. I must have been too engrossed with the book, despite its flaws. Frowning I stepped closer to the window. “Is that---?” Running a hand through my hair, I leaned against the wall, observing the police car parked outside. Poor guy. It must be cold, and the rain surely didn't improve the matter. After a moment of hesitation, I made up my mind. There was no way I'd let the man get sick because of me. Putting my shoes and jacket on, I unlocked the door and stepped outside. The wind hit me unexpectedly. Shivering I pulled the collar of my jacket up as far as it goes, then quickly made my way over to the car. I was soaked within seconds. Tapping at the window I waited for a reaction. I didn't have to wait long. The window rolled down, revealing a slightly surprised Wu.

“Good evening, sergeant.”

“Nick. Is something wrong?” He asked, frowning.

“Oh, no, no. Nothing is wrong.” Then, I change my mind. “Well, besides the obvious that is,” I said, gesturing at the vehicle. Wu smirked.

“I know. Unfortunately, there is not much I can do about it. Orders are orders.” Chuckling, I replied, “Well, as much as I appreciate it, I'd hate for a standup citizen as yourself to catch a cold because of me. I know it might be a bit unorthodox, but what do you say, care to come inside for a minute? Get something warm to drink? You must be freezing. Not to mention bored half to death.”

“True, on all accounts. However, how tempting as your offer might be, I've to decline. It's not how surveillance work.”

“Maybe not, but---” What to say? It was clear normal tactics wouldn't work on this man, but I couldn't just let him be. There must be something I… Oh. Of course. Amused I said, “I assume you're sitting here to keep an eye on me, correct? If that's the case, what better way to do that then to be in my company. That way, if something were to happen, I run a better chance of survival. In fact, accepting my invitation for coffee is just increasing your odds for a successful mission.”

“Well, look at you twisting the situation to your advantage. Call me impressed.” I tried not to look too smug when seconds later the car door flew open. Needless to say, I failed.

 

“No, no, no. Absolutely not,” Wu objected heavily. “It's a whole other dimension; like comparing a… well, a book,” he said, gesturing to the two large bookcases behind us, “with a magazine. You just can't, the differences are simply to grand.” Taking a sip of my coffee, I thought it over. What Wu said was true, but only partly.

“Yes, I agree that _Star Wars: a new hope_ is vastly different in comparison to _Star Wars: the force awakens_. However, you can't deny it’s still a part of the originals. It might not be a classic like the old ones, but giving time, I'm sure the movie will be just as loved as the rest.”

“I'm sorry to disappoint you, man, but that's never gonna happen. A classic is a classic, and I'm sad to say it, but the _Star Wars: the force awakens_ simple doesn't have the same flare. Too animatic, lacking the organic atmosphere that made it a movie you watch with your family.” Bemused I shook my head. How a cup of coffee had turned into a _Star Wars_ marathon I had no idea. Not that I'd mind. In fact, I was enjoying myself immensely. Wu was surprisingly easy to get along with, and I'm the first to admit that I'd been slightly worried at first – inviting him in, that is. The man simply looked so hard to interact with. How wrong I'd been. Any mention of anything geek related, and the Sergeant practically blossomed. It was quite the treat to see him this--- fired up, and I can't help but wondering what else made the man tick.

“Alright, I give,” I said, admitting defeat. “Would you like some more coffee.” Noticing the time, I slightly winced. It was almost 06:00a.m. Lucky me I didn’t had class until 11. “Or, perhaps something to eat? I could throw together a light breakfast.”

“I appreciate the offer, but I have to get home to catch some sleep before my next shift starts.” Oddly enough, I felt slightly disappointed by his decline. Normally I valued my privacy; the tranquility of the early morning hour, but the idea of spending breakfast – or any time at all, alone right now was off-putting. Frowning, I shrugged my shoulders. Weird. “I'm gonna need it if I'm ever going to identify that stupid ring,” muttering he rose from his seat. Ring? What ring? “Thanks for the coffee, Nick. And the movie, it was fun.”

“It was,” I agreed. It had been a while since I'd interact with anyone that wasn’t Monroe or Rosalee in such a familiar way. You'd almost think we were friends, I thought. A pleasant warmth swept over me. I liked it. “Um--- Wu, before you leave. I was wondering, if it's not too troubling, of course, but has there been any progress with the investigation? I know it's probably classified since its still active, but I… I need to know. Its stressing me out knowing he is still out there, you know?” Wu stood hesitant by the door. The internal struggle was evident, and I almost regret asking, but I had to know. Forcing the guilt aside, I pushed, “Please Wu, anything will do.”

“I'm sorry, Nick, but I can't.” My shoulder slump in disappointment.

“No. I understand.” I'd expected as much. “Can you at least tell me about this ring you mentioned. Is it related to the crime?”

“It’s related to _a_ crime, but not yours,” Wu replied. “It belongs to a man who was found dead a few days back, but he carried no identifications, and since his fingerprints is not in our system, we are struggling to ID him. We'd hope that the ring might give us some clues, but so far, nothing.” I nod sympathetically.

“And I thought my job was rough.” Chuckling the sergeant slapped me on my shoulder. “Hang in there.” Grinning heartily at him, I reached to open the door for him when---

“Wu, could you, perhaps, describe the ring to me?” I asked, hesitating. I felt as if I'd already pushed my luck in the matter. The little information Wu had already shared with me was beyond what I'd hoped. Frowning, Wu met my stare. Considering the pros and cons by telling me such a thing, no doubt. Seemingly making up his mind, Wu starts describing the ring. Picturing it my mind: a golden ring, smooth, with a large black surface at the top, and at the center, a single white stone, I couldn’t help but wonder why it was still in the victim’s possession. I could only speculate its value, of course, but by the mental image alone it appears being rather expensive. So why would the culprit leave it behind? Interruptions? A heat-of-the-moment-kill? Surely the stone alone is--- Maybe, just maybe.

“If I may, I suggest you take a closer look at the stone, sergeant. Specifically, around the edges.” At the confused frown I received from him at my, admittingly strange request, I elaborates, “You might not have his fingerprints in your disposal, but perhaps what you need is blood. If you can collect a sample, you can then search for a match through the hospital database. He might not be in the police database, but the hospital’s, however, might. Hench the stone. Accidents happens, I have lost count how many times Rosalee – a dear friend of mine, has cut herself on the rock on her wedding ring.” I saw the spark of realization in Wu's eyes, then. “I know it’s a long shot but maybe your victim had the same problem with his ring, and if so, there might still be some blood left behind.”

“That’s… brilliant.” Flustered I evade my eyes. However, I did notice a newly fresh wave of excitement in Wu’s eyes before I did. They were no longer clouded with the heavy tiredness I’d seen during the evening. It gladdens me. “I see now why the Captain is so besotted with you.” I blinked, because surely, I must have misheard. “See you later.” And with that, he was off and out the door before I could so much as say a word. Probably for the best since my brain was practically redeem useless. Only a single word ran through my mind, but it was most fitting to the occasion. Shutting the door, frozen on the spot, I said, “Oh.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don't forget to leave kudos and comments. Love to know your thoughts.  
> Much love Nicole <3
> 
> Also, for those out there who wish to know how the ring looks like:  
> https://www.michaelhill.com/mens-diamond-set-ring-with-black-onyx-in-10kt-yellow-gold-12229864.html?cgid=jewellery-mens-rings


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